Blood is Thicker
by sss979
Summary: The time is short to the end of the contract with Stockwell. Now it's time to see what his endgame is. The grand finale of the 19 book series. Do not read this one first or you will be very confused. ALL angst-related warnings potentially apply.
1. Prologue

SUMMARY: The time is short to the end of the contract with Stockwell. Now it's time to see what his endgame is. The grand finale of the 19 book series. Do not read this one first or you will be very confused. ALL angst-related warnings potentially apply.

WARNINGS: Angst. ALL angst-related warnings potentially apply. Also, a fair amount of derogatory language re: homosexuality. (Let's face it, however we feel about it now, "don't ask, don't tell" and the even MORE approving policies that replaced it were NOT a part of life for soldiers in the 60s-80s...)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This book is designed to be read at the end of the series Tiggertoo and I have been writing for the past few years. You can read them out of order if you'd like, but I REALLY don't recommend reading this one first as its purpose is to wrap up the series and that being the case, it has a ton of flashbacks and such that may not make sense if you can't reference them in context. You'll be lost right out of the first sentence in the prologue. Not to mention, if you're drawn to the angst warning, it's not going to hit you the way it would if you know all the background.

**PROLOGUE**

**Vietnam, 1971**

Face leaned over Cruiser, pinning him to the bar, facedown. Face's anger was palpable, the threat a low whisper that only Cruiser could hear. If Cruiser didn't back the fuck off of Murdock, and stop spreading rumors that were liable to get the pilot killed, Face was going to personally see to it that Cruiser suffered as much as Murdock did.

"What're you gonna do, Face?" Cruiser snarled. "Fuck me?"

"If I say yes, what're you gonna do about it?" Face growled back. "Cry rape?"

Cruiser snarled. "That what gets you off, Lieutenant?"

Face ignored him. He wasn't going to play these verbal sparring games. Cruiser's lack of discretion with what he'd thought he saw had rendered Murdock beaten half to death. Face was beyond the point of verbal sparring. "If he's hurt again, I don't care if it was your fault or not. I'll be more than willing to go to jail just to have it out with you. Are we clear?"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Cruiser spat, fighting for a position that would take the pressure off of his injured arm, which Face had wedged underneath him. Face didn't let him move. "One last practice run before you line up for the prison girls."

Face grabbed the back of his neck, grinding his cheek into the spilled whiskey on the bar top. "Don't push me, Cruiser. If it wasn't for Murdock's forgiving nature -" for some reason, Face heard contempt in that remark "- you'd already be facedown on the floor. You mind your own business and you watch your mouth. And we'll get along just fine."

"I'd be more concerned with his mouth if I were you. Sucking cock is a dangerous game."

Face growled. Cruiser knew nothing. But the instinct to deny the insulting accusation was overridden by the need to make his point. This wasn't about Face, and what Cruiser had incorrectly inferred about his relationship with Murdock. It was about Cruiser, and the trust he'd violated, and the consequences Murdock had suffered for it.

"No, Cruiser," Face snarled. "I _trust _his mouth. It's _yours_ I worry about."

He stood suddenly, letting the pressure off, and grabbed Cruiser's shirt, shoving him back to a safe distance. He'd barely regained his balance before he turned back to Face, eyes blazing in vicious anger. "You _should _be worried, Face. Next time, they might just finish him off."

Face glared at him. "Well, in that case, you'd better hope to God that they take me out too."

"Oh, I'll make sure they do. I've kept your name out of it so far -"

"Don't do me any favors," Face snapped, cutting him off.

Cruiser continued, undeterred. "But next time maybe it'll be different." His voice lowered to a venomous, hate-filled threat, laced with liquor and slurred with the inability to even think straight. "I hope to God they do come after you. I hope they hold you down and make you watch while someone plows flyboy, and I hope they put a bullet in both of you."

Face could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. "You'd also better hope to God that Hannibal doesn't ever hear you say anything like that."

"Oh, I'm sure the colonel would be interested in a lot of what I have to say."

"He probably would. Why don't you go find out?" Face took a step forward, noting the effort it took to keep his breathing slow and measured. "Tell him why his pilot couldn't fly the other day. Tell him where the bruises came from. And while you're at it, tell him why we can't go back to Nha Trang. I'm sure he's _dying_ to know."

"You seem awful sure that he'll turn an understanding ear to your side of things. Are you fucking him too?"

Face didn't think. The words had barely registered when he moved, two steps before he grabbed Cruiser's shirt. He could've struck first. Instead, he let Cruiser have the first punch. It would be the last one he'd get. With one arm still injured, he should've known better than to pick this fight. Face's arm was already pulled back when the blow landed on his cheek. The flash of pain opened the floodgates for the adrenaline. Pulse pounding in his ears, Face didn't waste time with threats and harmless blows and taunting. He went straight for Cruiser's nose with enough force to put his fist right through it. He felt it pop, and his knuckles split from the force.

The pain - and the smell of blood - awakened the killer in him that rested just beneath the calm exterior of the well-disciplined soldier. The only thing that kept him from striking again was the awareness that he was staring into the eyes of an American, and the calm understanding that if he didn't stop, he would kill him. With one hand still holding his shirt, Face threw him to the floor before he even realized he was bleeding.

The two men in the corner of the bar stood up, but Face put his back to them, watching as Cruiser landed hard on his back. He hadn't even had the chance to break his fall. Blood was pouring from his nose as he grabbed the edge of the bar to try and pull himself back to his feet, never taking his eyes off of Face. His nose was shattered - Face would have been able to tell that even if he hadn't felt it break - but he was still ready to fight.

Face pulled a fist back behind him slightly, at his side, and slid his right foot back a little, ready for more. _Come on, you bastard..._ He could feel the blood seeping from his knuckles, could see it draining from Cruiser's nose. It made something inside of him - something dark and dangerous - burn like wildfire, reckless and out of control. All of the anger he'd been pushing down in the days since the attack on Murdock came back in a rush, mixing and mingling with the adrenaline throbbing in his veins.

He'd been avoiding Cruiser, trying to talk himself into being calm and reasonable when he finally had to talk to him. They would still have to work together, after all. But those thoughts seemed far away now. Worthless. He wouldn't work with this man again. He wouldn't trust him ever again. Later, he would deal with the semantics of how that was supposed to work while they were on the same team. But right now, he wasn't the least bit concerned about it.

Cruiser took one look at his ready stance, and hesitated. Bleeding, his arm already injured, he wasn't quite stupid enough to think he could take on the anger in Face's eyes. Even if he _was _drunk.

"Just stay out of my way, Cruiser," Face growled, taking a step back. "And stay the fuck away from Murdock. I meant what I said about goin' to jail. It's _very _worth it to me right now."

Cruiser raised one hand to catch some of the blood that was gushing from his nose. There was no point in trying to wipe it away. Face watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn't going to try anything, then backed away a few steps and turned to walk away. His eyes caught those of the two men who'd stopped advancing and were just staring at him, not sure what to think. Face didn't address them, just poured one last shot of whiskey and tipped it up.

"The priests teach all you altar boys how to move down a line giving blow? Or did you learn that from Thanh Dai?"

Face slammed the glass down so hard it shattered in his hand. In one smooth movement, he turned and lunged. He had Cruiser on his back on the floor in a flash. By the time the two men pulled him off of him, the man's face was a mess of blood and broken bone. It didn't take long. Even with a man on either side, Face's adrenaline gave him unrequited strength to break their grip, then turn and attack them. Startled, they couldn't respond fast enough to avoid the first blows.

An instant later, Face was heading into the bottles on the back counter. Instinctively, he put his hands out to catch himself and they shattered under his weight, piercing his palms. He felt the men grab his shoulders. Knowing when to quit - when he was beaten - he let himself go limp, let them throw him against the bar. He didn't much care what they did to him. His point had been made.

And Sergeant James "Cruiser" Harrison would never forget it.


	2. Chapter One

**PART ONE**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**1989**

"Look, can we hurry this up please?"

Frankie smirked, enjoying the opportunity to harass Murdock - good natured harassment, of course. "What's the matter, Murdock? Got a date?"

The sarcasm earned him a glare. "As a matter of fact, I do." Murdock cast a quick glance at Hannibal. Something was under his skin. No telling what, or why - if it was a legitimate problem or just something in his head he was entertaining for the sake of being agitated. Never any way to tell for sure.

"My favorite movie is on in less than forty-five minutes," Murdock snapped. "So can we please?"

Could it be something so normal? Hannibal smiled faintly as he lit his cigar and leaned back in the oversized couch. It could be. Unless Murdock wanted to share, nobody was going to call him on it. They all knew better. No reason to entertain the madness. Even "sane", Murdock had his moments. Though right now, he just seemed irritable. Hannibal couldn't blame him, favorite movie or not. Stockwell seemed to bring that out in everybody.

Face and BA finally filtered into the room and took positions on the other sofa. Face, in particular, looked unamused. Murdock was gesturing for Stockwell to get on with it. This was going to be a fine day, Hannibal could tell already. His own mood wasn't much lighter than Murdock's. Three of Stockwell's missions in as many weeks had left him less than enthusiastic about sitting here once again for yet another briefing of only half of the information. Hannibal kept his thoughts to himself, hidden under an impassive, calm mask. Many places, he would rather be right now...

"Gentlemen, there's been a problem with one of our agents in Russia," Stockwell finally explained in the calm, unassuming tone that he always used when giving them a report. It was a tone that made Hannibal's skin crawl, a warning that he would not be getting the entire story. He'd gotten used to that tone in Vietnam, dealing with Agency bastards who thought he would somehow do his job better if he didn't have all the facts. After all, he wasn't one of them, so his security clearance couldn't possibly be sufficient. But none of them had ever withheld information the way Stockwell did.

He wondered what it would be this time; maybe the agent would turn out to be a high military official, or president of some obscure country - not an agent at all. Maybe he would be another long-lost relative - that one was still under Face's skin, more than two years later.

"What kind of problem?" Hannibal asked, holding the cigar between his teeth as he eyed Stockwell with the kind of disinterest he just couldn't fake.

"Yeah, and when you say 'our' agents," Frankie added, "who exactly do you mean?"

"He's a CIA operative. And he's been working in Russia for the past six months."

"So what's the problem?" Hannibal asked. The CIA could generally handle their own affairs. And usually when they were being sent after an operative, Stockwell was far less willing to tell them that.

"Several weeks ago, the man went rogue. He deviated from his mission. The last we knew for certain, he was being held on suspicion of rape - the wife of a rather prominent political figure - when he escaped custody and disappeared."

Face crossed his arms over his chest. "And you expect us to believe that the CIA can't find him? Or get rid of him on their own terms?"

Stockwell smiled. "It's not quite that simple. I need him."

"For what?" Hannibal demanded.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"Well, I'm sure you have other agents in Russia who are a lot more familiar with the territory," Hannibal smiled back, matching Stockwell's polite tone.

"And who speak Russian," Frankie pointed out.

"Again, it is not that simple."

"Why not?" Hanibal demanded.

"I need him brought to me unharmed. And right now, we are forced to consider him armed and dangerous. You see the complication."

"Dangerous?" Face asked. "As in he might _not_ want help from a couple of Americans?"

"He spent six weeks in police custody. During that time, we think he may have suffered a mental breakdown. I don't know precisely what protocols the CIA followed before they contacted me for assistance, but I myself have sent three agents after him. Each located him and then disappeared without a trace."

Hannibal and Face exchanged quick glances.

"For all we know, he may have defected to the Russians. Or he's deranged, following his captivity. In either case, it makes no difference to me. I still need him."

"So who is this guy?" BA demanded, glaring at Stockwell.

"Yeah, and do you got a starting point for us?" Frankie asked. "Or are you just going to send us off to Russia with nothing but a name?"

"Russia's a pretty big country," Murdock said quietly, holding his chin on his palm.

"Carla?" Stockwell called. A moment later, the tall, thin blonde appeared behind him with a stack of folders.

"Everything you need to know is right here in these folders," Stockwell continued. "But before you look at them, there are two things I'd like to tell you personally."

Face sat back with a sigh. "Uh oh, here it comes." He didn't know what "it" was, but he wasn't expecting it to be good.

"The first is that this will be your final mission."

The shock wave that rippled through the room was almost visible. Face's eyes widened, BA sat noticeably straighter, and Murdock looked immediately to Hannibal. Hannibal was very careful not to give any reaction, but he was certainly surprised. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that hadn't even made it onto the list. Stockwell was not one to offer unprovoked courtesy, like a free pass on ten missions. They had eleven left on their contracts. He was counting them down.

"Last mission?" Frankie asked. "As in, we'd be done working for you?"

"That's right." Stockwell smiled. "I have your signed pardons in my possession, and if you complete this mission successfully, they will be yours."

Stockwell had clearly been counting on that to gain him the undivided attention of all five of them. For the most part, it worked. But Hannibal was still waiting for the bomb to drop. There was a reason why Stockwell was telling them this - a reason why he was doing it. Stockwell was nothing if not a master of tactics. He had a game plan.

"You said two things," Hannibal reminded, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Stockwell nodded. "And the second thing I have to tell you is not as pleasant."

"Naturally."

"The man you're looking for may be operating under any number of aliases, but his real identity is one Sergeant James Harrison. You know him from your service in Vietnam."

A second shock wave. This one made a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of Hannibal's stomach as his team exchanged glances.

Cruiser...

*X*X*X*

"Knew there had to be a catch," BA sighed, sitting at the table with the folder open in front of him. "Always a catch."

"A lot of Special Forces went into the CIA," Hannibal said, almost to himself, studying the papers.

"Oh yeah," Murdock mumbled through his hand. He sat up straighter as he spoke more clearly. "They already had most all the training, already multilingual, already on the payroll. Hell, CIA and SOG worked together for years during the war."

"Yes, Murdock," Face said flatly. "We were there, remember?"

Murdock sighed deeply and looked across at Hannibal, but didn't speak.

"Hey, is anyone else wondering what Stockwell's _not _telling us about this mission?" Frankie asked. Hannibal looked up and caught his gaze. "I mean, it happens every time, right?"

"Yeah," BA said. "And this is about Cruiser this time."

"Okay, who is this Cruiser?" Frankie asked. "I thought the guy we were goin' after was named Harrison."

"Sergeant Harrison was a member of our unit in Vietnam," Hannibal explained. "He went by the name Cruiser."

"Oh." Frankie lowered his head. "Well, that makes sense why Stockwell wants us to go get him, then. I mean, if he knows you."

Hannibal's eyes drifted to Face, who was staring at the same page he'd been looking at for the past twenty minutes, hiding his eyes behind his hand.

"Lieutenant?"

He tipped his head up just slightly, parted his fingers, and looked through them, but didn't speak.

"Any thoughts?" Hannibal paused as he put his cigar between his teeth. "You've been awful quiet."

Face was quiet for a moment. Then he looked down at the paper again. "No."

Great. This was going to be a whole heap of fun.

"Cruiser was a lot of things," BA said. "But he ain't a rapist."

"Stockwell never said he was guilty," Hannibal reminded him.

"Of course, he didn't say he was innocent, either," Murdock said. "And he certainly implied that he was guilty of murder and/or treason."

"That don't sound like Cruiser to me," BA said firmly.

"Well," Hannibal sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'd at least like to find out how much of it is true before we call off the deal with Stockwell, point blank."

"Especially when it's our _last mission_," Frankie said, clearly mortified by the mere suggestion that they wouldn't follow it through. "Or did you all forget that part?"

"That's assuming Stockwell honors that," Face reminded him, his voice low. He'd gone back to staring at his paper.

"I don't think he would've said it if he didn't mean it," Hannibal said.

Face didn't answer.

Hannibal leaned forward and picked up the photo of an older James Harrison, with black hair and dressed more professionally than Hannibal had ever imagined him. He looked good, especially given that Hannibal knew for a fact he'd needed reconstructive surgery when he'd left Vietnam...

_ "You shattered his nose and broke his cheekbone and his jaw in three places. He's going to need surgery to put his face back together."_

_ Face shut his eyes. "Shit..."_

_ "You're also lucky he isn't pressing charges, Lieutenant. If I were in his shoes, I sure as hell would."_

The sound of the door opening ended all conversation abruptly, and everyone looked up as Stockwell entered the room. "Gentlemen," he greeted, "anytime you're ready, I have a car waiting to take you to the airport."

"Hey, I ain't goin' in no plane," BA said firmly.

Stockwell raised a brow. "How else were you expecting to get to Russia?"

"One question," Hannibal interrupted, ignoring BA. His eyes were fixed firmly on Stockwell. "Nothing in this file gives us any indication where we might start looking for Harrison. Your three agents found him in three very different parts of the country, and the last one reported that he might be planning to leave Russia."

"That, gentlemen, is your problem," Stockwell answered calmly. "It seems to me you know this man as well as anyone - probably better, in fact. Your guess is as good as mine for where he is now."

Hannibal sighed. "I should've expected as much."

"Uh, Lieutenant?"

Face glanced up and locked eyes with Stockwell.

"I understand that there was some bad blood between you and Harrison towards the end of your time in 'Nam. I trust that will not affect your ability to complete this mission."

Face's eyes turned dead cold in an instant. "No."

It was all he said. Stockwell took it for what it was worth, but Hannibal didn't buy it for a minute. As the team filtered out of the room after Stockwell, Hannibal hung back. "Face?"

Face stopped, turned, and fixed him with a cold, dead stare. He said nothing.

"I really need for that to be the honest-to-God truth."

Face's jaw tightened.

Pausing beside him, Hannibal crossed his arms comfortably over his chest. "What's gotten into you, Face? This isn't about Murdock, is it?"

"He got what he deserved for what he did to Murdock."

"So what is this about?"

No answer. Face only stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then, finally, he took a slow breath, speaking just above an answer. "Stockwell wants him unharmed and I don't know that I can guarantee you that. I may need to sit this one out."

Hannibal blinked, shocked by the request. "Sit it out? What the hell for?"

"You're right, Hannibal, it's not about Murdock."

Hannibal waited expectantly for more, but Face hesitated, as if choking on his words. Finally, he looked away.

"It's about Jessica."

"What about her?"

"After Vietnam, Cruiser went and found her."

Hannibal frowned. "What do you mean, found her?"

"I mean tracked her down to St. Louis and..." He swallowed hard and looked back up at Hannibal. "It ended badly, but he kept in contact with her for years. All I can figure is that it had something to do with me."

Hannibal watched him for a long moment. He was being painfully honest, and Hannibal could tell this _was _going to be a problem. But it didn't change anything. "Face, I can't give you a free pass on this."

Face's jaw tightened again, fists clenching. "Colonel, I have never, in twenty years, declined a mission you led. But putting him and I together in a room is a very bad idea."

"You're just going to have to control yourself, Face." Hannibal did everything he could to keep that from sounding patronizing. "What is it you want me to do? Send you off to Hawaii while the rest of us - including Murdock, who doesn't have a clue what all the tension is about - go face him? Or maybe we should just scrap the whole damn thing and make a break for some little village in Africa because we need this mission to make the last three _hundred _worth it and I can't do this without your help."

Face looked away.

"You knew Cruiser better than any of us, Face. Whether you like it or not, that's just a fact. And if we need to think like him in order to -"

"I don't want to think like him," Face growled.

"Well, I need you to."

A long, lingering silence followed. Hannibal took a deep breath, and closed his eyes as he let it out slow. "Look, you're not a kid anymore, Face. And I'll be damned if I'm going to fight with you, try to force you to do this. But we're going to Russia, we're going to find Cruiser, and we're going to bring him back - alive and well - or we're going to die trying. If you don't want to be a part of that, then go. You've got your pass."

Face looked up slowly, meeting Hannibal's gaze with cold, dark anger. "This is going to end very badly, Hannibal."

"I'll take that responsibility," Hannibal answered with an equal amount of seriousness. "All I need you to do is be there."

Face watched him for a long moment, then turned and headed silently after the rest of the team.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

By the time they stepped into the crowded airport, glancing over their shoulders to make sure that Stockwell and his driver actually left, Face's emotions were tightly controlled. They could've taken that private jet that Stockwell so freely offered, but Hannibal had insisted on the commercial flight. It was the control issue, Face knew. Even a commercial flight offered them more autonomy than that jet, and with the nature of this mission, they wanted to be as autonomous as possible. Not one of them trusted Stockwell. Not one of them thought that he wouldn't want to be keeping tabs on them all the way. Especially not on a mission like this.

The team was supposed to be headed to Moscow. After that, the only trail they had was three weeks old. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it wasn't going to go very far. There was also the little matter of a commercial flight not allowing them to bring any weapons except for a few checked pistols. But the trade-off was worth it; Face could always get more guns. Russia certainly wasn't lacking AK-47s.

Still, Face hated going places where he couldn't speak the language. It made it so much more difficult to get around, and to get the things they needed. Not to mention that any con had to be done, start to finish, non-verbally. He never really knew where to look, or how, or what he might find. It all had to be done by instinct and reaction. In a hostile country, the stakes were even higher. One slip up could land them all in a Russian prison.

"Face, hold onto these tickets," Hannibal directed, handing them over. "We're not getting on any plane until we've had a chance to discuss where we're going. Without Stockwell present."

"I ain't gettin' on no plane, period!"

This BA said as he walked through the security checkpoint of the airport. The ruse never got old.

"Aw, just think about it, BA," Frankie smiled. "This could be our very last mission. Then you'll never have to fly again."

"I heard that before."

Face studied the tickets for a moment before slipping them into his pocket. "What's the plan?"

He could hear that dead tone in his own voice - the one that made Murdock look at him with deep concern. But this wasn't the time or place to have that conversation, and Murdock knew it.

"Cruiser has a sister, somewhere in the States," Hannibal reminded. "If he'd keep in touch with anyone, it'd be her."

Murdock frowned as he looked at Hannibal, burying his hands deep in his pockets. "How we gon' find his sister?"

"I know how to find her," Face said. "I'll make a few calls and meet you at the bar."

It wasn't a question. And it received no answer. As the rest of the team headed for the bar inside the terminal, Face headed for a payphone. He paused there, long enough to scan his surroundings and make sure he wasn't being watched. Then a moment more to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts. He couldn't talk to her with anger in his voice. He needed to bury it, and bury it deep.

He tried to turn his thoughts to Stockwell instead of Cruiser. A lot of things about this mission didn't sit right with him. Stockwell never gave them the whole story, and there was no telling what parts he was hiding this time. Or why. Of course, he realized he could say that about every assignment Stockwell handed them. But this one was personal. This time it was Cruiser. Face wasn't naïve enough to think that there wasn't significance to that. The CIA could take care of their own affairs. There was no reason for Stockwell to be involved in the first place, let alone involving them.

Just business. Just another mission. He could do this.

The phone rang several times before a female voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jess."

The woman laughed. "It's Heather."

Face blinked. "Heather? What are you doing home? I thought you were in the dorms at UCLA now."

"I am. It's winter break and I'm broke."

"Ah, right." He leaned forward on the wall, hunched over the phone. "Is your mom around?"

"Yeah, she is. Let me go find her."

"Thanks."

His eyes scanned the wide hallway as he waited, his mind wandering.

_ "He called me today." _

_ Lying naked on the blanket, tucked into the alcove on the still-warm sand, Face let his fingers play lightly over Jessica's shoulder, not answering._

_ "He's coming to LA and wanted to see me."_

_ He looked up and met her eyes. "And I take it you don't want to see him?"_

_ "Not really. No."_

_ He kissed her forehead, his voice just above a whisper. "Why does Cruiser scare you, Jessie?"_

_ "Because I loved him. Like..." She looked up, searching his eyes as if she were willing him to somehow understand. "Like I love you. But wrong."_

"Hello?"

Face managed a smile at the sound of her voice, for the first time all morning. "Hello, beautiful."

She laughed quietly. "Hi, Face."

"How are you?"

"Lonely," she said with a sigh. "When can I come see you?"

"Soon."

"Soon as in now?"

He laughed softly. How good would it feel to tell her their work with Stockwell was over and done and he was a free man? He let that thought fuel him as he continued.

"I have a question for you, Jess."

"Okay?"  
He took a deep breath. "When was the last time you talked to Cruiser?"

"Cruiser?" she asked, confused.

"Yeah." He kept his voice low and soft, turned into the wall. "I know you talked to him right after we got together, when he wanted to come to LA. When was the last time?"

She was quiet for a long moment. "The last time was..." She was hesitating. "It was right after we went to St. Louis together. I told him to stop calling."

"And he did?"

"I haven't heard from him since."

"What about his sister? You mentioned once that you keep in touch with her."

"Yes, I do. But Face, why are you asking me this?"

He sighed at the concern in her voice. "Jessie, it's okay," he said softly. "I just need to know if you have her number."

"You're going to call her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I need to talk to her."

"That's not an answer, Face."

"Jess, please."

Silence. For a moment, Face wondered if they'd gotten cut off.

"Jessie?"

"I'm here."

"Do you have her number, Jess?"

"Face, please don't."

"Don't what?"

Her voice was shaking a little as she continued. "Stay away from Cruiser. He's out of our lives. Let him stay that way."

"It's not about you," he reassured quietly. "It's just business. He's in some trouble and I need to find him."

"What the hell do you care if he's in trouble? Let him burn in hell."

"I wish I had that option. But I don't."

"Face, please."

Face sighed. "Jessie, I need his sister's phone number. I have other ways of getting it, but you'd make it a lot easier on me if you just tell me."

No answer. He sighed deeply as he held his forehead with his free hand, leaning against the wall. "Jessica..."

_ "You just tell him where to find me next time he calls. Or ask him where I can find him. I promise you, you'll never hear from him again."_

_ "Face, I wouldn't put it past him to kill you. He is capable of anything."_

_ "Good."_

_ "How is that good?"_

_ "Because he and I have done enough talking. I'd just as soon put a bullet in his head, no questions asked, as waste my breath."_

_ "Face!"_

"Jessie, I need you to trust me," Face said quietly, well aware of all the thoughts that must be running through her head. "This is business. It's not about you."

Still nothing.

"Baby, I need his sister's phone number."

"Please don't go after him, Face," she whispered.

"I'm not going after him. Not that way." He paused. "My boss needs to talk to him."

"About what?"

"I don't get answers to those kinds of questions. It's not even worth it to ask."

Silence. Face fed more coins into the phone as he waited.

"Trust me, Jessica."

She breathed deep, and let it out slow. It was audible through the phone. "It's not you I don't trust."

"The phone number, Jessie. Please."

Another long hesitation, then she answered so softly that he could barely hear her. "Let me go look it up."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal looked up as Face approached and sat down at the table across from him, between Frankie and Murdock. "What'd you find, Lieutenant?"

"I talked to Cruiser's sister." He cast a lingering look at a half-asleep, drugged BA, just barely able to sit up in his chair, then sat down across from Hannibal. "She hasn't seen or heard from him in six months and has no idea where he is. Oh, and she's eight months pregnant."

"Six months is round about the same time he went over to Russia, according to Stockwell," Hannibal said. "Makes sense."

"Yeah, but here's what doesn't make sense," Face continued. "He told everyone he was going on a vacation. He didn't give an exact time frame, but from the way he talked, it sounded like he was only going to be gone a week or two."

"Week or two isn't enough time for a CIA plant to get much accomplished," Murdock mused.

Hannibal nodded in agreement. "Especially given that his assignment, according to the files we got from Stockwell, were to get close to the Defense Minister's wife."

Frankie snorted with laughter. "Sounds like he got a little too close too fast and she didn't like it."

"Those charges were filed two months after he was sent there," Hannibal said. "So that means for the first two months, everything was going according to plan."

"If the information we got from Stockwell is reliable," Face said.

Murdock turned his head away, watching the incoming plane land on the runway. "Heh. That's a big if."

"Didn't this sister of his worry about him when he never came back from vacation?" Frankie asked.

"Apparently he's done it before. Several times. Last time, he said he was going to Greece for a week-long Mediterranean cruise and disappeared. Sent his sister money every month to pay the mortgage. Came back almost a year later, married. They divorced after three months."

"Is he sending her money this time?" Hannibal asked.

Face shook his head. "There's no more mortgage. It's paid off."

Murdock shrugged. "Well, he would've needed to get away for long periods of time if he's with the CIA. The fact that he had family here that he kept in contact with at all is... unusual."

Frankie frowned deeply. "So all we know is this guy left six months ago, and Stockwell wants him back. That don't help us much."

"Guys," Hannibal started, sitting forward and leaning on his arms. "We all know Stockwell isn't exactly forthcoming with his information. But if we can say for sure that he really does want us to bring Cruiser to him, then he's going to at least give us the tools that he thinks are necessary. He won't lie about the stuff he thinks is important, and omitting fact is far more his style than fabricating it."

"Can we be sure of that?" Face challenged.

"No. But we can only work with what we've got. And right now that's the information we've gotten from the three agents Stockwell sent after him."

"_If _those three agents exist," Murdock pointed out.

"Stockwell gave us three reports," Hannibal said quietly. "Whether he got that information from three dead agents or not, it had to come from somewhere. And he wanted us to have it. That means he thinks it's what we need to find Cruiser."

"So where do we start?"

"Well, if we have no more recent leads, I say we start where our information leaves off."

"Moscow," Face filled in. "Like Stockwell said."

"Yes. But not on that plane." Hannibal pointed to the tickets in Face's pocket. "The last thing we need is to be followed straight out of the gate."

"Why would he do that?" Frankie asked. "He's never done it before."

"Because this one's important to him," Hannibal answered. "And, more importantly, because we don't know why."

*X*X*X*

Murdock didn't think he'd ever, in his life, seen Face so quiet. It wasn't a reflective quiet, either. It was a seething anger quiet. One that had had Murdock on edge from the moment he'd first noticed it.

"Facey, are you okay?"

Face nodded, still staring out the window of the plane. That was definitely not the question that was going to get him to talk. Murdock tried again.

"You think it's gon' be... awkward? Seein' Cruiser again?"

Face hesitated, but finally answered in a low, emotionless voice. "The last time I saw Cruiser, I broke his nose, his cheekbone, and his jaw in three places. Yeah, I'm expecting it to be a little awkward."

Murdock frowned deeply. He'd known for a long time that something had happened between Face and Cruiser. It was in that black nothingness between the crash at the Bong Son River and waking up one morning in the VA hospital. After all these years, there were still only bits and pieces of that blackness that had come back with time. And he'd made little attempt to remember the rest.

The trial had helped with the memory loss. He remembered now, in vivid detail, how and why he had pulled that trigger on Morrison. He remembered that his fingers had been bandaged - broken? - when he did, but he couldn't remember how they'd gotten that way. He'd crashed a chopper, and he remembered waking up in the cockpit and wondering if he was alive. He remembered a nurse handing him his jacket.

But there was nothing else. At least, nothing else real. There were plenty of dreams and visions - his brain trying to make sense of memories that were locked up safe inside. Monsters and dragons and snakes and demons. But none of it made any kind of sense. The sheer horror of the dreams were all the confirmation he needed that he didn't want to remember those weeks, months, years. Better to just leave them in the darkness.

That being the case, Murdock wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know why Face had beat the hell out of Cruiser. But he'd already opened Pandora's box. He had to ask.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Face's cold tone made that gnawing sensation in the pit of Murdock's stomach worse.

"He was your friend," Murdock said. "And a team member."

"He was. Until he crossed the line."

"What line?"

"One I'm not going to talk about."

And just like that, the conversation was over. All of Murdock's experience with poking and prodding at Face amounted to nothing on this particular topic. He was shut down hard. Frowning deeply, Murdock watched him for a moment, then turned away. Whatever had happened between the two of them, he'd find out soon enough when they located Cruiser.


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Murdock, Face, go get us checked into a hotel," Hannibal ordered, putting the last of their suitcases into the back of the cab.

"According to the guy I talked to on the plane, there's one right across from the American Embassy," Face said. "I'd lay down money that Cruiser's been there at least once."

"Go find out," Hannibal ordered. "The rest of us are going to head over to the embassy. Meet us there."

"Right," Face nodded, closing the trunk and walking around to the backseat. He sat down just as Murdock closed the door on the other side.

"_Gostinica, samaya blizkaya amerikanskoye Posol'stvo_."

"_Da, horsho_."

Face gave a sigh of relief as they pulled away from the curb and glanced at Murdock. "You're nice to have around sometimes, you know that?"

Murdock smiled back.

"How'd you learn all those languages, anyway?"

"I don't really speak that many. I took Russian in school and learned Vietnamese in the war. And my best friend when I was young, his mom only spoke Spanish."

"And the Italian?"

Murdock snorted. "I can't speak Italian worth a damn." He smiled broadly. "But I can pretend."

"Uh huh." Face turned to look out the window. "You fooled me."

"And anyone else who can't speak Italian."

They were out of the cab, and in the lobby of the hotel before either of them spoke again.

"Hi," Face greeted with a smile, leaning forward on the counter of the registration desk as he checked the nametag of the woman behind it. "Teresa, do you speak English, by any chance?"

She smiled. "Yes. I speak some."

"Oh, good." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, handing it over the counter. "Have you ever seen this man?"

She took the photo and studied it for a long moment. "He is familiar," she answered, handing it back. "He was here long time ago."

"How long?"

She shook her head. "Months. Maybe... August? It was warm."

"It was probably the first place he came," Murdock guessed, leaning on the counter next to Face. "Hotel right across from the American Embassy - it's the first place I'd go."

"He was not American," Teresa said. "Unless I remember a different man."

"Do you have the guest book that he might have signed?" Face asked.

"Yes. But I do not remember his name."

"That's okay." Face smiled.

She turned away, to retrieve the book, and Murdock leaned in a little closer. "Not American," he repeated. "You think he'd pass for a Russian?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Murdock laughed, low, and turned away as the woman returned with the book and set it on the counter. "I think it was August," she said. "If there is more I can help, please tell me."

"Thank you," Face answered. "Your English is very good, by the way."

She smiled and turned away, leaving the two of them to look through the book. "According to the information Stockwell gave us, he should be under the name Andrick Beloi and he should've arrived in Moscow on August 23."

Murdock frowned as he looked over all the scribbled names. "What's the point of signing a guest book if you can't read the signature?"

"That's it," Face pointed out, his finger on the page.

Murdock's eyes narrowed. "How can you tell? Looks like A-V-T..."

"No, that's an N," Face corrected, tracing it. "And anyways, that's his handwriting."

Murdock raised a brow and smirked. "You remember what his handwriting looks like twenty years later?"

"It's him," Face said firmly, not putting the matter up for debate. He glanced up. "Teresa?" He waited for her to come closer. "Is there any way you could look up what room he was in?"

"I am not sure," she answered. "We keep records for six months. We may still have it." She grabbed a pen. "What is name?"

"Andrick Beloi," Face read. "He checked in on August twenty-third."

"I will see."

She disappeared around the corner and into an office. Face took the opportunity to scan his surroundings. The furniture was nice, the floors were clean, the staff was smiling. There was no bar or restaurant, and the lobby was small for such a large hotel, but he'd certainly seen worse.

"He was room 459," Teresa informed with a broad smile, studying the paper in her hand.

"Great," Face answered. "Is there anyone in that room right now? We'd like to rent that room and the rooms on either side of it."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal swept the hotel room out of habit as he walked in the door, in spite of the fact that he was sure Face and Murdock had already checked it for bugs. Then he walked to the window and checked the view. There was a clear line of sight to the front of the embassy. That was probably intentional on Cruiser's part.

Hannibal let the curtains fall back in place. "Does anybody remember him?"

"The lovely front desk lady remembered that he 'wasn't American,'" Murdock said in a flawless imitation of her accent.

"We saw the hotel registry," Face offered. "He was here under the name Andrick Beloi, like Stockwell said."

Hannibal nodded as he put his back to the wall and leaned comfortably, deep in thought. "If Stockwell really wants us to find him, he's got to give us a valid starting point. Whatever else he gave us is... subject to interpretation."

"Did you get anything at all from the embassy?" Face asked.

"No."

"Not only do they have no record of him being there," Frankie continued, "nobody's heard of him, or recognizes him."

"In other words, a dead end."

"So what do we do now?" Murdock asked.

Hannibal hesitated for a long moment, thinking. "Following the next logical step, we go to the prison and find out for sure what the charges _actually _were. But I suspect Stockwell was up front about that too. Because it's just as easily verifiable."

"You think he actually did rape that woman?" Murdock asked, his brow furrowed.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think it makes much of a difference at this point."

"It might make a pretty big difference if we're considering the possibility that Stockwell wants him back for more personal reasons," Face said.

BA frowned deeply. "What do you mean, personal reasons?"

"Stockwell's got a lot of agents, a lot of influences, all over the world. He certainly went the extra mile to get us into his employ. Why _wouldn't _he be interested in Cruiser?"

"Yeah, and for that matter," Frankie added, "how do we know he isn't _already _working for Stockwell?"

"An interesting theory," Hannibal granted, glancing around at the rest of them. "Any other thoughts?"

There was a moment of silence before BA finally spoke up. "He could be just like us. Kinda like a replacement. Maybe 'cause our time's runnin' out."

"Stockwell _does _always stay one step ahead," Hannibal agreed. "It makes me all the more interested to hear Cruiser's side of things."

"Which means we gotta find him," Frankie said.

"Got any suggestions for that, Colonel?" Murdock asked.

"We have information that may or may not be reliable," Hannibal recapped. "Past that we have our instincts. And what we all know about Cruiser."

"Or did, twenty years old," Face said.

"He's still the same guy," Hannibal said confidently. "Just a little older and more mature."

"That's debatable."

"Just for kicks," Hannibal turned and looked straight at Face, "let's say you're Cruiser. You end up in jail, you get out. Doesn't matter how - bribe a guard, over the barbed wire, some other, more complicated plan. Where do you go once you're free? Do you risk going to an asset for shelter? Or do you get the hell out of dodge?"

"Get out," Face said firmly. It took no thought. "Fast. Especially if I knew it was trumped up charges."

"Somewhere you're familiar with," Murdock continued. "Where you have contacts, but not so recent that people would automatically associate you with it."

"So where's Cruiser's comfort zone?" Hannibal asked. "Saigon?"

"If he's posing as a Russian here," Murdock said, "he can pass there."

"He wouldn't go back to Vietnam," BA protested. "None of us would go back to Vietnam if we didn't have to. Not even Cruiser."

"Bangkok." Face's voice was full of authority. "He would go to Bangkok."

_ "This place just smells like sex. And various other... forms of fun and amusement." Face breathed deep and smiled. _

_ "I'm real tired of being sober," Murdock said. "Anything left in that bottle?"_

_ Cruiser handed the bottle over. "Ah, the possibilities."_

_ Face was grinning. "I forgot how much I love this place."_

_ "Best place on earth," Cruiser said. "If you ever don't know where to find me, look for me right here."_

_ "I'll keep it in mind."_

_ "Greatest shopping mall in the world," Cruiser sighed happily, taking in the scenery._

"He might not stay there," Face said. "But I know he'd go there. How long he stays would depend on why he's running and who he's running from. And how well he thinks they know him."

"How sure are you about that?" Hannibal asked.

"That he'd go? Or that he'll still be there?"

"That he'd go."

Face hesitated a moment. "At least ninety percent."

"Good odds, Colonel," Murdock said quietly.

The silence was eerie as Face turned away and walked toward the window, hands deep in his pockets. Hannibal let it linger for a moment before removing the cigar from between his teeth. "Alright. Let's take a vote. If we go to the prison first, we may know more. Otherwise, we cut to the end of the maze."

BA growled. "Never liked Bangkok. But if we gonna end up there anyways, I say we go now."

"Yeah," Frankie agreed. "I'm kinda anxious to get back and start my new life as a free man. Know what I mean?"

"Murdock?"

Murdock shrugged. "I'm not real crazy about trying to make friends with Russian prison guards. I'm all for the shortest distance between two points."

"Face?"

"Bangkok," Face answered quietly.

Hannibal nodded. "Bangkok it is. Until we talk to Cruiser, we only know two things for sure: Stockwell wants him and Stockwell is a lair. Anything else is a variable. Face?"

"Colonel?"

"Get us a way to Bangkok that Stockwell _won't _know about. I don't care if that means we go on horses. I want to make sure that if we find Cruiser - or at least find out where he is - we'll have a chance to talk to him before Stockwell shows up unannounced." He frowned deeply. "We don't want a repeat of what happened with Josh Curtis, and got us into this whole mess to begin with."

Face nodded his understanding at that, his eyes serious, jaw clenched.

"We're going to stick close on this," Hannibal said firmly, casting one more worried look at Face before he dragged his eyes away. "If we're going in blind, I don't want anyone going in alone."

*X*X*X*

Bangkok looked different now than it during the war. Most notably was the lack of American soldiers, replaced now by tourists from all parts of the world. But the sex trade was still booming, the same way it had always been. Thailand was one of the few places that sex - with males or females of any age - could be purchased for a reasonable fee.

The bar was familiar. Murdock had been there dozens of times - not necessarily in this building, but in others just like it. The booze and smoke and pheromones were the same in all of the bars that catered to Americans - once soldiers, now tourists - all over Southeast Asia. Murdock's memories were old, but not forgotten by any stretch of the imagination. Years had passed since those days, and the soldier in him had been far removed from both the horrors and the "pleasures" of war. Still, the seedy bar in the heart of Bangkok brought a wash of feelings that were perhaps better left untouched.

No one looked up as he and Frankie walked through the door and scanned quietly. Dozens of bars in Bangkok, but this was the one they were most likely to find Cruiser. This had been his favorite bar. Face knew it; Murdock knew it. They'd been here before. Murdock tried to ignore the memories as he stepped through the door and looked around.

_ "To escape." Cruiser raised his tequila. "Even if it's only for a night."_

_ "To escape."_

_ "Escape."_

_ Cruiser, Face, and Murdock all threw back. Murdock winced and gave a hacking cough. "Good stuff. __When we're done, we can use what's left as paint remover."_

_ "There won't be any left."_

_ "Oh, it's gonna be one of those nights." Murdock laughed. "Better pour me another, then."_

The room was full, but not packed tightly. In a far corner of the room, deep in the shadows where they couldn't see, there were several people in booths. If Cruiser was here, that's where he'd be. But it would be awfully conspicuous to walk right up and look more closely. They kept a safe distance as they headed to the bar.

The bartender was old, ragged. He seemed less than enthusiastic about seeing them, but he didn't hesitate to acknowledge Murdock. He had probably seen his share of Americans during the war and in all the years since. Murdock leaned on the bar, still scanning out of the corner of his eye. Scouting exits and threats could easily be mistaken for perusing his next purchase from among the tired whores that lingered around the tables. He'd already located the hallway to the back door, the two Americans who were visible - neither of them bearing any resemblance to Cruiser - and the three figures who were in the dark, out of sight. They were a potential threat just because he couldn't see them. But they didn't seem interested in him. Just as well.

Murdock smiled at the keep as he came close, and held up one finger. "Beer."

Frankie made a face. "You got something frozen like a -"

"He'll have a beer too," Murdock cut him off with a glare.

Murdock gave him a brief glare as the bartender turned, filled the glasses, and set them down on the bar top. "We're not here to attract attention to ourselves, Frankie. Knock it off."

"What?" Frankie asked innocently. He frowned at the glass on the bar. "I hate beer. Especially warm beer."

Murdock gave the man enough money to cover the drinks. He didn't make a show of the cash, but he didn't hide it from view either. He noticed the way that the bartender's eyes drifted to the money almost involuntarily. It was probably more than the man had seen in a long time. Even if Murdock wasn't overtly presenting a bribe, it was impossible for the man _not _to notice. These places were all the same. _Everything _was for sale given the right price.

And Murdock had a tall order to fill.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"When we get back the hotel, you should give Jessica a call," Hannibal said, eyes scanning the bar as he kept his head bent over his beer.

"No," Face answered flatly. "We're here for a reason, and I'm not about to explain it to her. Besides, I just want this over with so we can get back home."

Hannibal smiled in spite of himself. "You used to love Bangkok, Face. What changed?"

Face turned and gave Hannibal his best "are you kidding?" look. It made Hannibal chuckle. Of course, it was a rhetorical question. Face was nothing like the person he'd been twenty years ago. Even where he bore a resemblance, time had refined and developed him. And thank God for that, too. Some of those lessons had been painfully difficult to learn.

_ "These are not little infractions, Face! Forging orders and going AWOL is serious!"_

_ Face's jaw clenched. "I'm sorry Hannibal." _

_ He wasn't sorry. Not even close. Hannibal hid his face in his hand, rubbing away the beginnings of a headache. "Look, Face, I can stand here and threaten you until I'm blue in the face about how I'm not going to back you up not one more time. But we both know I will. You're pushing too hard, Lieutenant. Too far. And sooner or later, it's not going to be my call. And nothing I can say is going to save your freedom, much less your rank."_

Face turned and put his back to the bar, surveying the bar. "If we want to find out any information, we're really going to need to talk to people, you know."

That cold tone in his voice wasn't lost on Hannibal. He hated hearing it. He hated even more the thought that it was only going to get worse when they actually found Cruiser.

"You know, Face, I haven't seen you this keyed up in years. Not even when we went back to Vietnam. Or Cambodia."

"Very different set of circumstances."

"Why? Because it's Cruiser?"

"Yes."

"And because of Jessica."

Face flinched. The ice in his eyes didn't melt in the least. Hannibal gave him time, and was almost surprised when he finally did answer.

"It wasn't a coincidence, Hannibal. He sought her out."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. If I had to guess, it was about me. And he had to have known about the kids to think that she would mean anything to me."

"You didn't even know about the kids until '78."

"He must have assumed I did."

"Alright, so he dated Jessica," Hannibal said cautiously. "But that was years ago for one thing, and petty for another. It doesn't explain why you're acting like this."

"He _hurt_ Jessica," Face corrected. "And continued doing it, blackmailing her for years to keep her talking to him, telling him things about me."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly. _That _was concerning. "What did he want to know about you?"

"Anything she'd tell him."

The silence lingered for a long moment as Hannibal processed this new information. Why would Cruiser keep tabs on Face? That Cruiser felt he still had a score to settle with Face was not impossible. Based on the photo they'd gotten from Stockwell, Cruiser had undergone a fair amount of plastic surgery to repair the damage Face had done to him. But if he wanted to have it out with Face, why not do just that? Why go after Jessica? And why were they even having to think of this nearly twenty years later?

"I'm over what happened in Vietnam, Hannibal," Face said quietly, seriously. "I'm _not _over what he did to her. And I don't know where he stands on any of it but I can pretty well guarantee you, he's still holding a grudge."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "That certainly does add something to this whole scenario," he finally said. He glanced up at Face, meeting his steady gaze. "Now I suppose the question is, what kind of grudge is he holding?"

*X*X*X*

"Hey, you speak English?"

The bartender eyed Murdock warily, but nodded without speaking.

Murdock pulled out the picture of Cruiser he'd gotten from Stockwell and slid it towards the barkeep. "Have you seen this guy?"

The bartender's looked down at the photo, then finally back up at Murdock. "Maybe."

Murdock smiled slightly. That meant yes. People here didn't extort money when the answer was a simple no. It was too dangerous. He flipped a couple bills loosely onto the bar and left them there. The guy could either take it or assume Murdock was still holding it until he was done asking questions. In either case, the question hung unanswered in the air as the man studied the money, then the man who'd produced it.

"I see him," the bartender offered. Murdock could tell by the offhanded answer that he had no inclination to help them. But he had no particular reason not to, either. The money spoke volumes. "He come here."  
Murdock tossed another bill on the pile. He couldn't care less about the money. It wasn't even his. "How long ago?"

The bartender glanced again at the money. "Not long." He tipped his head. "What you want for him?"

Frankie tapped Murdock's shoulder, and he turned. In the furthest booth, back in the corner, a figure in a long dark coat stood. With his face turned away, he made his way to the door as inconspicuously as possible. Murdock frowned. Was he _hiding_? Or was it just chance that he wasn't looking at them?

In any case, Murdock turned his back fully against the bar and lowered his head to the small, wired microphone on the inside of his jacket. "BA, there's a guy coming out the front door. Check him out."

It only took a second for the answer to come back in his ear. "Right."

It was one of the men they hadn't gotten a good look at yet. He could be harmless, he could be a threat. There was no telling in a place like this.

Hell, he could be Cruiser...

Murdock watched him go, and glanced back to see that the bartender had moved away. Just as well. He'd be back. In the meantime, Murdock scanned the crowd again, letting his eyes rest on a table in the far corner. Slowly, as he stared, they drifted out of focus.

_ "Aww... you GI? You look lonely."_

_ The woman who wrapped her arms around Murdock's neck as she sat down in his lap. He smiled as he reflexively put an arm across her lap. "Are you here to fix that?"_

_ "You want dance?"_

_ Murdock nodded slightly. "Sounds like a plan." _

Realizing he was daydreaming, lost in the memories, Murdock turned around and looked for the bartender again. But he wasn't behind the bar at all. Murdock raised a brow at that. What errand could he possibly have to run that was important enough to leave his bar unattended?

"Where'd he go?"

Frankie pried his eyes off of one of the scantily dressed women at a nearby table and glanced back at Murdock. "Huh? Who?"

Murdock growled in frustration. Damn it... How long had he been out of it, lost in his memories? And what the hellwas Frankie's excuse? Instinctively, Murdock's eyes snapped to the back hall - the most logical escape route - just as the bartender emerged from the swinging "employees only" door, shoving something into his pocket. Paper. Money? He lingered, blocking the door, oh so casually. Murdock noticed it. Was it intentional? Only one way to find out.

He stood, and walked directly to him. "Think we can finish that conversation?" he asked, stepping close enough to violate the social norms.

It should have been more confrontational than the guy was comfortable with. But instead of uneasiness, the bartender displayed only a smile. "Of course."

Murdock glanced over, and immediately saw that the other back booth that had been full just moments before was now empty. With Frankie only a step behind, he pushed his way forward, past the bartender and through the doors. The man might've been intent on holding them up, but he was caught off guard and off balance. He "let" them pass, nearly falling over backwards.

Murdock didn't think twice about rushing down the short hallway and out the back door. Frankie was on his heels. Immediately, they scanned the dark alley for a target to chase. The running figure already had a good fifty yards on them at least. He sprinted around the corner of the building and out of sight just a half second after Face saw him. But they had a direction.

Instinctively, Murdock ran full force after him. Too much of a head start. If he turned in to hide somewhere, they'd never find him. Why was he running? Who was he? Surely it couldn't be Cruiser. Surely it couldn't be _that _easy. They hadn't even been here a full day...

Murdock rounded the corner and was immediately met with bullets, cracking against the building and ricocheting off the pavement. He backtracked so fast he almost knocked Frankie over. He would've fallen if not for Frankie and the wall to use for balance.

Startled, Frankie helped to steady him and stared out into the street as the shooting immediately stopped. Silence. Murdock's pistol was in his hand. Frankie pulled his own. "I think we found him," Frankie said, almost jokingly.

"We found _somebody_."

Surely it wasn't this easy.

Murdock peeked around the corner, scanned quickly, and ducked back. No sign of the shooter. He waited a few more seconds before advancing out further. He felt like an open target. But they couldn't just stop or the guy would get away. God knows where they'd find him if he knew they were looking. Especially since he didn't seem particularly interested in talking to them.

As they moved out into the street, carefully, nothing moved. Even the wind had calmed completely. Murdock scanned the windows of the buildings, the alleys, the rooftops. There was nothing. "BA, where are you?"

Cruiser - had that been Cruiser? - was shooting at them? Why? It was a little less friendly than Murdock had been hoping for, even given the circumstances.

"Down the street a ways," the voice in Murdock's ear came back. "It was just a guy."

"We're a block east," Murdock said. "Someone running, might be Cruiser."

It couldn't possibly be Cruiser.

"Be right there."

As they advanced, unhindered by bullets, the false assurance of safety grew. They picked up the pace. Passing by one of the doors of the buildings, it suddenly swung open and at the same instant, a voice stopped them.

"There's ten feet between your two heads and my two pistols. And I never miss a shot at less than five hundred. So if I were you, I'd stay _real _still."

Cruiser's voice was familiar, even after all these years. Murdock and Frankie froze in their tracks and raised their hands slowly, letting the pistols hang from their fingers.

"So... that wasn't you shooting at us a second ago?" Murdock asked calmly, hoping Cruiser would recognize his voice as well. He turned his head slightly towards the shadowed doorway. "Because if it was, you uh... missed."

"Ten feet, gentlemen," Cruiser repeated. "Don't make me fuckin' shoot you."

A sound behind them, a single footstep that fell too hard, and Murdock watched out of the corner of his eye as Cruiser spun and found himself staring straight down the barrel of an AK-47. "You ain't ten feet from my gun, sucka."

Murdock relaxed, dropping his head forward, and letting his hands lower. Cruiser's attention was no longer on him.

"BA?" The surprise in Cruiser's voice was evident.

Murdock took a breath before turning slowly to face him. "Hiya, Cruiser," he said quietly, with a forced smile. "Long time, no see."

It was Cruiser. And it was too damn easy.

*X*X*X*

BA kept a good distance from Cruiser on the way back to the hotel. He hadn't thought about what it was actually going to feel like to see the man again. Not after what had happened just before they left Vietnam. BA had never gotten a chance to tell Cruiser what he felt about that. He'd never thought that Cruiser would've been responsible for what happened to Murdock. He'd left Cruiser out of it when he'd gone after the soldiers he thought were responsible. He'd showed them a thing or two about how he felt. They all bled for their little attempt at lynching. But Cruiser was no part of that. How could he be? How could any member of the team be a part of that?

But Face had clearly thought he was a part of it. And he'd settled the score just as well as if BA had done it himself. BA had never asked why. He knew. And it was the knowing that made him not sure what to think about Cruiser.

He looked as different, face to face, as he did in the photo. He was putting on a good show - all smiles and being polite. As polite as Cruiser ever got, anyways. But the way his eyes darted around the streets, the way he followed at a close distance, the way his hand never strayed too far from his gun - it was all a dead giveaway. He didn't trust this. BA wasn't too worried about that. They didn't exactly trust him, either. They had a job to do. Get him back to the States and move on. That was all he wanted to think about.

BA walked beside him, Frankie in front, Murdock at some distance behind. He was surrounded, and he didn't try to change that. But years being on the run made those looks and postures all too familiar. Paranoia. Cruiser looked like a guy who'd been hunted for a long time. No surprise. If even half of what Stockwell had told them was true, Cruiser had seen some rough action lately. A prison in the USSR was not exactly a nice place to be - even less so for an American CIA agent. If he'd kept his cover - something told BA he would've sooner died than to blow his cover - God only knew what it had cost him.

He was in surprisingly good condition, considering.

"Damn, I sure didn't expect to see you guys here," he said, trying to make conversation. "You guys uh... you look good."

"You too," BA said flatly.

That was it. He didn't try again.

Up the stairs and to the room at the end of the hall - with the easiest access to the emergency exit - they walked quickly and quietly. BA knocked loudly, and Murdock stood back as he waited for it to open.

"Hannibal. It's us. Open up."

Face, not Hannibal, opened the door. And it took two seconds, one look at the shadow that came over Face and the fire that ignited in his eyes, to know this was going to get real violent, real quick.


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Face landed a blow right across Cruiser's jaw. It took both Frankie and Murdock to hold him back. BA had his hands full with Cruiser, trying to keep the two of them apart. There was no thought in Face's head, just fury like he'd not felt in years. The smell of blood and the pain in his knuckles only fueled it.

"Face, stop!"

"No, don't stop!" Cruiser yelled at him. "You _bring _it, you fucking pretty boy!"

"That is _enough_!"

Cruiser's efforts to push past BA had almost succeeded when Hannibal's loud, commanding voice brought him to a sudden stop. Even after all these years, that tone made Cruiser stop dead in his tracks. It didn't have quite the same effect on Face. But the fact that there were two men holding him back, and then Hannibal's hand pulling his shoulder from behind, made him realize he'd done all the damage he was going to be able to do. For now.

"I want the photos," Face growled.

"Fuck you!"

_ "He had that damn camera with him all the time."_

_ Face tensed at the quiet admission on Jessica's lips._

_ "I don't even know what kind of pictures he has of me. But I know he still has them. He still mentions them when he calls."_

_ "He's blackmailing you?"_

_ "Never directly. But he always mentions it. And he keeps calling."_

_ "What does he want?" _

_ "I don't know. I just always assumed he wanted the opportunity to relive it. Everything he did to me..."_

"You will give me every last fucking one of those pictures or, God help me, I will cut your fucking balls off."

"Fucking try it!"

"Lieutenant, that is enough!"

Face stepped back, eyes still burning with hate. Cruiser was bleeding from his mouth, returning the glare, but he didn't struggle again to get free from BA's grip.

"If you two are through," Hannibal said with a tone that dripped disgust, "I'd like to get out of the hallway and have a discussion like civilized adults."

Face stared back at Hannibal for a moment, eyes cold and jaw set, then turned and walked away, further into the room. BA finally released his hold on Cruiser, who immediately reached up to smear the blood away from the corner of his mouth. With a glare in Hannibal's direction, Cruiser stepped into the room, following Murdock and Frankie.

Murdock sat down on the edge of the bed and looked back just in time to see BA shut the door behind all of them, then move away from Cruiser, who lingered there, barely inside of the room. Hannibal took a position in the middle if the room, between the two beds, back to the wall.

"Before we do anything else, Sergeant, if you don't mind," Hannibal said politely, almost casually, "I'd like you to put your gun on the table over there."

Cruiser's eyes glanced from Hannibal to the door back to Hannibal again. Giving up his gun was clearly not something that sat well with him. "How about you just don't give me a reason to use it," he bargained.

"Just want to have a friendly chat," Hannibal answered, withdrawing his own pistol. "You understand." He took two steps, then set the weapon on the dresser before moving away from it again - a gesture of goodwill.

Hannibal didn't need words to communicate the order to the rest of the team. Very slowly, BA, Murdock, and Frankie all set their guns in the pile on the bed. Face was less willing. His eyes shifted to Hannibal, silently, then to Cruiser. But he made no immediate move to disarm himself.

Hannibal's eyes lingered Cruiser, but his words were directed at Face. "Lieutenant?"

With a long, hard look at Cruiser, Face pulled the pistol out of the back of his pants and leaned forward to hand it to Hannibal before leaning against the window frame again. Finally, slowly, Cruiser reached for his weapon and set it down on top of the heating unit he was standing next to. Then he leaned against the unit. It would not be a far reach for the gun.

"Now." Hannibal was apparently choosing not to address the backup weapons that he knew they all carried. The show of good faith had been made. "You work for the CIA, is that correct?"

"Seeing as you have me vastly outnumbered here," Cruiser shot back, "how about you share first?"

"What would you like to know?"

"How does this end?"

"Right now, I'm going to get some answers from you," Hannibal answered smoothly. "Those answers will determine how this ends."

Cruiser's eyes narrowed at that. "I got a real low tolerance for bullshit word games. So how about you actually answer the question?"

"Maybe you need to reword it."

"Who do you work for?"

Murdock watched him closely. He was standing as straight as Murdock was sitting - muscles tight and eyes darting. There was tension in his voice, even fear. Hannibal heard it too. The question was rhetorical.

"You know damn well who we work for," Hannibal said flatly.

There was fear in his eyes. Enough to confirm what Hannibal had just said. The fact that he said it out loud was no surprise. "Stockwell."

Hannibal nodded, wordlessly.

"You guys are crazy to work for him, you know that?"

"What do you know about it?" Hannibal demanded.

"I know he's out of his fucking mind."

"What does he want with you?"

"The hell if I know."

That was a lie.

"The Agency can clean up their own affairs," Hannibal said flatly. "Why is he involved?"

"He told you I work for the Agency?"

"He told us a lot of things. And I'm giving you the opportunity to give your side of the story before I take you, gift wrapped, back to the States."

"If you're working for him, why should I trust you?"

"I don't see as you have much of a choice."

Cruiser shook his head. "You plan on taking me back to him, you'd better just shoot me right now."

"That could be arranged," Face said flatly, not looking away from the window.

Cruiser ignored him, keeping his eyes on Hannibal. "I mean it, Colonel." Cruiser's voice was shaking in a way Murdock had never heard it before. "He'll kill me. And if it comes to that, I'd rather it be you."

For a long, tense moment, nobody said anything. Murdock's eyes went from Cruiser to Face and finally to Hannibal, who was looking at Cruiser with unwavering intensity.

"What makes you so sure he wants you dead?" Hannibal demanded.

"It's not the dying part I care about. Put a fucking bullet in my head if you have to. But don't you dare take me back to him alive. I don't deserve that. Not from you."

Another lingering silence. When Hannibal spoke again, his voice was nothing short of a full command. "What did you do, Cruiser?"

"I made a deal with him. Thirteen years ago. It was only supposed to be two, but it doesn't end. You know all about that, right, Colonel? How long have _you _been on his payroll?"

Hannibal's jaw tightened. "I'm not going to ask you again."

"My last target was the defense minister's wife. Over a fucking personal vendetta," Cruiser said. "She and Stockwell fought about how much he was willing to pay her to assassinate her husband."

"Why didn't he just send you after her husband?"

"Why does he do half the things he does?" Cruiser challenged. "Seein' you here, I figure he was trying to burn me. Guess I wore out my usefulness."

"So what went wrong?" Hannibal demanded. "How did you end up in prison?"

"I hesitated. Missed my window. Next thing I know, I'm getting hauled off on rape charges."

"Why rape?"

"Convenient? Lack of imagination? I have no fucking idea."

"Who filed the charges?"

"Hell if I know. Probably Stockwell, if he was trying to make me go away."

"Why would he want you to go away?"

"He and I have had a couple times lately. I deviated from the plan and he knew it. The guy watches my every move. Just like he watches yours."

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing, evaluating his sincerity. But there was nothing in Cruiser's expression or the way he was carrying himself that suggested he was lying.

"How'd you get out of prison?" Hannibal demanded.

"I had a friend. He pulled some strings for me and got me transferred to a minimum security area. It wasn't hard to escape from there." He shifted slightly before continuing on his own rather than waiting for the next question. "I wasn't out twenty-four hours and Stockwell calls me at the fucking hotel where I was staying. Accuses me of going rogue. Says if I didn't report back before morning, he's going to come and _get _me. So I ran like hell. Next thing I know, you guys are here."

Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest. "It was my understanding that you had help getting out of the prison. From one of the agents Stockwell sent to find you."

"He tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact, he did."

"Exactly."

"So Stockwell sends you on a bogus mission, some unknown person trumps up rape charges, you get free and run like hell to Bangkok." Hannibal shook his head slightly. "That leaves some pretty big holes unfilled."

"When aren't there holes with Stockwell?"

"What about the three men who were sent to find you?" Murdock asked.

Cruiser turned and looked him straight in the eye. "What men?"

Murdock moved to the suitcase in the corner and withdrew a folder from the front pocket. "Cain 8, Cain 24, and Cain 16. In that order." He handed the folder to Cruiser, so he could look at the photos.

Cruiser took the folder from Face and glanced at the pictures before shaking his head. "I've never seen these guys. Who are they supposed to be?"

"Three agents you killed," Hannibal said flatly as he watched Cruiser flip through the rest of the folder reading everything he could. "And the reason why we ended up involved."

Cruiser stopped reading, his jaw slightly ajar as he looked up at Hannibal. "I didn't kill these guys. I would've told them the same damn thing I'm telling you. If my time is up, just shoot me now."

"Since when did you become so fatalistic?"

"I'm not fatalistic. I'm just not stupid. How long have you worked for him?"

"Four years."

"And in four years, you've never seen him burn an agent?"

"We don't really associate with the rest of his agents, as a rule."

"Well, then, you're just going to have to take my word for it. I'd rather die quick. Right now. And if you can't pull the trigger, give it to him."

Cruiser jerked his head in Face's direction. Murdock tensed as Hannibal and Face exchanged glances. A world where Hannibal would actually considered blowing away a former teammate, point blank, was like an alternate reality. Murdock was shocked that the thought even entered his mind. But as the tension and silence thickened in the room, Murdock realized he wasn't breathing.

If it was a bluff, on Cruiser's part, it was a good one. It wasn't anything like the nervous pleading of Curtis and other rogues of Stockwell's. That just wasn't Cruiser. He was one of the few people in the world that might actually have it in him to follow through on what he was saying. To look death in the face and give the final nod to pull the trigger. He was one of the few people that Murdock believed really knew and understood that there were things worse than death.

Cruiser lowered his head while Hannibal deliberated silently, and spent a minute tending to the blood on his split lip. He wiped it on his sleeve, licked the rest of it away, then looked back up, meeting Hannibal with a passive, cold look. He was a man resigned to his fate, but melodrama was not within his repertoire. His shoulders were back, head held high.

Face finally looked away. Hannibal turned back to Cruiser, his face expressionless.

"You just tell me one thing, Cruiser."

"What's that?"

"What does Stockwell have on you?"

Cruiser stared at him for a long moment, then looked away, cutting his eyes to the floor. He didn't answer.

"We had a lot on the line when we went to work for him," Hannibal said flatly. "We were convicted of murder by a military court and stood in front of a firing squad. What were you convicted of?"

Cruiser shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. "I did a stint with the Agency after 'Nam," he finally said. "Couple years. Then I got into some trouble with the East German government."

"What kind of trouble?"

"It was a mission. I fucked up. People died." He swallowed. "Lots of people. If you're with Stockwell, I'm sure you guys have seen my file. Why are you even asking me this?"

"There was nothing about East Germany in your file," Hannibal said flatly.

"Right," Cruiser sighed. He hesitated, realized Hannibal was waiting for more, and started again. "I made a deal with Stockwell. He kept me out of jail. Promised me a set number of missions and I'd walk away with a clean slate." He looked up again and locked eyes with Hannibal. "That was thirteen years ago."

Hannibal said nothing. Finally, eyes still locked hard on Cruiser, he nodded. "Face?"

"Colonel?"

Murdock almost winced at that tone. He sounded lifeless. A perfectly trained, hardcore soldier. No feeling, no opinion, no remorse. It was so unlike the Face he knew now, it was chilling.

"How much time do you need to secure us a place to hide until we can see what Stockwell's next move is?"

"In what country?"

"I don't care. Talk to Murdock - you two work it out."

"Wait, what?" Frankie's stunned cry was ignored as Face grabbed his jacket off the bed. "Hide? What do you mean hide?"

"Shut up Frankie," BA snapped. "We do what Hannibal say we do. Hannibal say we hide and wait, we hide and wait."

As Face slipped his jacket back over his shoulders, he watched Hannibal quietly. There was nothing in his eyes. They were just as empty as his words. As he passed Cruiser, their eyes locked briefly. But still, Face didn't react. In that same emotionless, robotic voice, he gave his one and only warning.

"You're only alive because of Hannibal. Cross me _once_ and I will shoot you."

Without another word, he turned away, continuing on towards the door. Hannibal nodded to Murdock, a silent dismissal, and he turned to follow Face. Behind him, he heard Hannibal's last instructions to Cruiser.

"You can choose to come with us or you can choose to try and run. Your chances are better with me. But I'm going to ask you to make an effort to stay out of Face's path as much as possible."

"Trust me. It's not a problem," Cruiser answered coldly.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

The plane itself was Stockwell's. But they'd left the pilot on the tarmac, tossed the tracking devices out at five thousand feet over the ocean, and turned in the opposite direction, under the radar. Face had been silent the entire time. Gestures and nods to yes or no questions, no more than he'd needed to say or do. He'd settled into the chair next to BA and stared out the window. There was no reading him. No indication of how he felt, what he was thinking. He was just silent. It was safer that way. Hannibal was sure he'd hear about it later, in private. But not in front of the team. Not in front of Cruiser.

"Did you say this is Stockwell's plane?" Cruiser asked warily. He was sitting in the back corner where he could watch anyone and no one could get behind him. Hannibal had recognized the defensive position, but he had no problem with it, in principle.

"Relax, Sergeant."

"If he finds out you're running..."

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" Hannibal asked, amused.

Cruiser shut up. But he was still shifting nervously, eyes darting as Hannibal rose slowly to his feet and headed towards the back of the plane to ferret out a liquor cabinet. They might as well be comfortable, since they had time to kill.

"Care to enlighten the rest of us on where we're going, Face?"

"Paris," Face said flatly.

"We can get that far without refueling?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not the one flying the plane."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw Cruiser light up a cigarette as he pulled open the upper cabinets first and rummaged for a moment. "What makes you think," Cruiser asked uneasily, "that Stockwell's going to have any trouble at all finding this plane in Paris?"

"From there we catch a commercial flight to Cairo," Face continued emotionlessly. "Passports are in my bag. Except for you. You're on your own."

"I got one."

Hannibal paused and glanced over his shoulder at Face. "Cairo, Egypt?"

"You said obscure."

Hannibal nodded but didn't pursue the matter. He went back to his exploring, his back to everyone, including Cruiser. Finally, he found a cabinet stocked with miniatures and a small fridge next to it, grinning when the fridge revealed a freezer, just big enough for a tray of cubes. He turned back to the others, a bottle of gin and another of scotch in his hand.

Face wasn't interested in drinking. He seemed even less interested in talking. He'd lit up one of the cigars he typically kept in his jacket pocket, but he didn't appear to be terribly interested in that, either. Hannibal poured him a glass of scotch, nonetheless. "Here. Have a drink."

"Why?"

"Because I'll be a lot happier being on a plane with you if you can stop looking like you're about to shoot something."

Face looked up, eyes dead cold. "You want my gun?"

Was that even sarcasm? Hannibal hoped to God it was. "Just your assurance."

"I'm not going to shoot anybody at thirty thousand feet in the air."

Face looked out the window again. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw Cruiser watching him. Finally, Cruiser removed the cigarette and rested his arm on his knee, his voice calm and flat. "You have something you'd like to say?"

"I think I've already said it," Face answered.

"When did you take up Braille?"

"Whatever gets the point across."

"What the hell is your problem, anyways? I haven't done a damn thing to you."

"Maybe not to me, directly. But I really don't appreciate what you've done to people I care about."

"What people?"

"Murdock, for one. Jessica, for another."

"Neither of those had anything to do with you and you know it."

"Bullshit. Jessica had everything to do with me."

"You can make this whatever you want, Face, including my fault."

"I am. And that's the problem."

"Fine. So deal with the problem and move the fuck on."

"How do you suggest I do that?"

"It's not my job to give you suggestions on how to cope with shit you can't let go of. That's _your _problem."

"It's a problem you created."

"You're the one blowing this way out of proportion. That's a decision you've made."

"Right. You made the decision to hurt people and I made the decision to care."

"Yeah, fine. I made decisions. I get to live with them. I don't expect you to like what went down between me and Jessica and I don't really care. It's none of your damn business. Never was."

Face's fists tightened, and he finally turned to look at Cruiser with fire in his eyes.

"If you got your warm fuzzies hurt because of the life choices I made, then you did and there's nothing I can do about it. I am certainly not going to apologize for it. Because I'm not sorry. I didn't live my life for you then, and I don't now."

"Then I think we'd be best to keep our conversations strictly business."

"I'm fine with going to our separate corners."

Face let the silence settle and turned to look out the window. Cruiser glanced away and took another drag off of his cigarette. Hannibal watched them both, then took a step towards Face and held out the glass of scotch again. It took him a long moment to take the glass. Then Hannibal went back, grabbed his own scotch and took his seat. This was only going to get worse, the longer they were in the same room together. Jesus, how long was this flight to Paris, anyways?

*X*X*X*

Face opened the door to the cockpit and took a step inside before turning his attention to Frankie in the co-pilot's seat. He didn't bother with friendly chat. Uncharacteristically abrasive - and without apology - he pointed to the door. "Out."

It was so unlike Face that Frankie was too startled to do anything but obey, with a stunned and confused look. Face waited for him to leave, shut the door behind him, locked it, and sat down in the vacated seat without a word of greeting to Murdock. Leaning on the armrest, he put his head in his hand. He could feel Murdock's eyes on him, but he really didn't care. The cockpit was the closest he could get to "alone" right now. And he needed to be alone. More to the point, he needed to not deal with Cruiser. Or any of the things that being in the same room with him brought up.

"You okay, Face?"

"Don't." Face's tone was harsh. It sounded foreign to his own ears - more abrasive than he'd heard it in years. Decades. He clenched his fist in his lap as he used his other hand to massage his forehead. "Just don't. I didn't come in here to talk."

Murdock hesitated for a beat. "What did you come in here for?"

"Quiet," Face said roughly. "And a wall between me and Cruiser."

Out of the corner of his eye, Face saw Murdock run his hand over his face. But he didn't speak. He gave Face the quiet he wanted.

Long minutes passed, and Face tried not to think. Two... ten... twenty... Finally, he tipped his head back, staring up at the instruments above him. He stayed like that for a long moment before he shut his eyes. "You know, if I shot him, Hannibal would get over it."

Murdock was quiet for a moment. There was no answering pun, no jovial sarcasm, and no joke in Murdock's voice as he finally answered. "Yeah. Yeah, he would. I dunno about Stockwell, but Hannibal would."

Face said nothing. He'd already thought all the way through the consequences of putting a bullet in Cruiser's head. It wasn't so much Stockwell's word that kept him from doing it; it was Hannibal's. If they weren't on Stockwell's doorstep with Cruiser in handcuffs before he realized they were running, it wouldn't much matter one way or the other.

It was Hannibal that made him hesitate with his finger on the trigger. And he knew that even though the colonel wouldn't be happy, he wouldn't really be angry either. He'd understand. Maybe not in the sense that he would empathize. But he would understand the magnitude of an offense that would cause Face to disobey a direct order to stand down. It was an order that made Face's teeth grind, but he'd spent too many years respecting that man to stand up and tell him to go to hell. He wasn't that foolish kid anymore. And whether he agreed with him or not, he knew for a fact that Hannibal had his men's welfare in mind. He always did, with every call he made.

"Face?"

"What?"

"When the last time you talked to Jessica?"

Face's sigh was almost a groan. He hadn't been expecting that. The words set his mind reeling, almost before he found the thoughts to go with them. He leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands. "The airport. Virginia. What was that, a week ago?"

No, it hadn't even been that long. A few days. It seemed so much longer than that. This tension could not have possibly formed in just a few short days. It was in every muscle in his shoulders, his back, his arms... Even his toes were clenched in his shoes. A detached, uncaring realization that he hadn't eaten since they left Russia - God, even that seemed forever ago - and his stomach turned at the mere thought of food. Even his chest was tight; it was hard to breathe. Normally graceful movements were instead automated, robot-like. He felt nothing. Cared about nothing. His only awareness was wrapped up in this mind-numbing tension and the exhaustion it created.

"Face?"

"What?"

"You remember when I was all unhappy and tense and close to losing it in Russia? I mean, the time before. When we stole that jet. Do you remember what you told me, Face?"

"No." Face hid his eyes behind his hand. He couldn't remember yesterday, much less some assignment way back whenever in Russia.

"You told me to call Kelly."

Face didn't allow that thought to really process through his mind. He just reacted instinctively. "I'm not calling Jessica."

Murdock waited a moment to see if Face would offer up any reason for the rushed statement. When nothing else was said, he pressed. "How come?"

Face sighed. There was no instinctive response to that. He actually had to think. He dropped his hand to the armrest and put his head back again, staring out at the clouds. How was he supposed to answer that, anyways? Because he didn't want to involve her in this? Because it was dangerous? Because of Stockwell or Cruiser or both? Because he wanted to get this over with and then he could relax when there wasn't a threat of - what? What was he even expecting, anyway? Because he didn't want to tell her how much he wanted to shoot Cruiser at point blank range, but couldn't?

All of that was true. But at the same time, none of it held up a candle to the actual thought - beneath the instinctive recoil - of hearing her voice. The sound of it, in his memories, made some of the tightness in his chest dissipate instantly. And that, in turn, made his fists clench. He couldn't do that right now. He couldn't lower his guard like that.

"You don't have to talk about _this_. Just call and say hello. Just hearin' her voice will help. You'll feel better."

Calling her wouldn't be enough, and he knew it. If anything, it would probably only make things worse. He let his eyes close as he turned his head away from Murdock. He didn't want to talk to her. He wanted to hold her. He hesitated on that thought. No... that wasn't entirely accurate either. He realized with some sort of detached, non-feeling part of him that what he really wanted was to throw her on the bed and fuck her until she screamed his name. It was something primal, possessive. Something almost shameful in its complete lack of concern for how she might feel about it. She was his, and he wanted to own her - every part of her - completely. Not that he thought either one of them had forgotten that she was his. But every moment he had to spend in Cruiser's presence, thinking of what he'd done to her...

Face had always understood sex in terms of need. Stress relief ranked high on the list of needs attended to by sex. A few years ago, it wouldn't have been hard to get rid of this tension. Women were easy to find. Push it down a little further until he could play a character - as if nothing was wrong. Vent everything there was to feel in a few satisfying minutes of intensity and passion. Climax would whitewash his mind, and afterglow would ease the tension in his body. Move on feeling as if someone had pressed the "reset" button.

But things were different now. He didn't just want a woman. He wanted the woman who was sitting right now in a house in LA, on the opposite side of the globe. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Talking to that woman wouldn't help. Release in any form with any other woman wouldn't help. For the first time in his not inconsiderable experience with women, he found himself up to his neck in true, desperate need.

"At least for the next couple days, you won't be able to see her. So call her. Hear her voice. It won't be enough, but it'll hold you over until you can be with her." He paused to sigh. "'Cause we need you here, Face. Completely focused and on track. Right now you ain't focused, Face. And I don't want it to get you killed."

Face realized he was fidgeting - hand holding his chin, his forehead, the back of the chair, back to the armrest. Nothing was comfortable. Nothing eased that stress that was tying every muscle in his body into knots. Murdock's advice didn't fall on entirely deaf ears, but Face didn't expect that he really understood the thoughts and emotions weaving over under around and through each other in Face's mind. He didn't need a voice. He needed _her_.

"Face, please." Murdock was still talking. He wasn't likely to stop anytime soon, and Face didn't really care. "Give her a chance to help. Calling her, hearing her voice... that _will _help."

Face focused his thoughts elsewhere, turning to stare out at the setting sun ahead of them. "So would killing Cruiser."

***X*X*X***

"Lieutenant?"

Face paused with the key in the lock, and cast a sideways look at Hannibal. The journey from Paris to Cairo on an overcrowded commercial flight had been even less pleasant than the first leg of the trip. They were all exhausted. And Face's anger had been tucked safely underneath the knowledge that it couldn't control him right now.

"We need to get something to eat."

Face stared at him, saying nothing and feeling nothing. "There are restaurants and food stands everywhere. Pick one. You don't need me for that."

"I mean you too."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten since we left Russia."

"Is that a problem Colonel?"

The distance in the formal address should've gotten his point across, even if he'd failed to communicate it in his tone. Face had no energy to get angry, indignant, or frustrated. He had no desire to argue, or make his point. But there was no way in hell he was going to go share a meal with the team and Cruiser. The mere thought of it made him physically ill.

"We do need to talk, Lieutenant," Hannibal said, keeping his voice low. "But not right now."

"There's nothing to talk about. You know where I stand and you made your call."

"Would your call have been different? In my position?"

Face took a deep, calming breath, resting his hand on the door handle. "Colonel, this is one time I can't put myself in your position, see it through your eyes. So we're going to leave it at 'I trust you.' But through my eyes, he's a rabid dog that needs to be put down even if it _wouldn't _buy us our freedom."

"And you're basing that on what? A fifteen year old fallout between him and Jessica?"

"I'm not going to argue rationality with you. You asked a question, and I answered."

Hannibal stared at him, not challenging, not arguing. Face's grip tightened around the doorknob, waiting. Finally, Hannibal nodded. "Get some rest, Lieutenant. I'll bring you something to eat."


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Mom! Face is on the phone!"  
Still only half dressed from the shower and already five minutes late for work, Jessica nevertheless dropped her earrings on the dresser and dove for the phone on the bedside table. "Face?" She turned her head away from the phone. "Heather, I got it!"

There was a soft clatter as Heather hung up, and Jessica held her breath for a moment, waiting to hear his voice. "Face, are you okay?"

He was quiet for a moment, just breathing. She was just beginning to really worry when he finally spoke. "I need you."

The sound of his voice, barely a whisper and full of raw emotion, made her heart clench in her chest. Suddenly, she had no thought left for the clock. "Face, what happened?"

"I need to make love to you, Jessie." There was something desperate and broken in his voice. Something that damn near broke her, just hearing it. "I just need to touch you..."

Slowly, Jessica sat down. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more in the world than to be there with him. "Tell me where you are and I'll be on the first plane to get to you."

"You can't."

"Sure I can. Watch me."

"I can't let you."

She was silent for a moment, cradling the phone as if somehow, through it, she could touch him. "Face, what happened?"

"I just need you. God, I need you right now."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Is anyone else hurt?"

"Everyone's fine, Jess."

She hesitated a few seconds. He wouldn't lie, but he was definitely not fine. He was too tense, too wound up to even talk. She could hear it in his voice.

"You found Cruiser," she realized quietly.

He drew in a slow breath, then answered in a whisper. "Yes."

Taking a slow steadying breath Jess pushed all of her questions and fears aside. Cruiser was a monster, and he would destroy anything he touched. But Face didn't need to hear that right now. What he did need was something she felt instinctively, even across a phone line. Love and security. Protection and support.

"Are you alone?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

She took a calming breath, and moved further onto the bed, putting her back on the headboard. "Are you safe? To relax?"

He was quiet for a moment before he answered that. "Yes."

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, drawing up the image of him in her mind. "Do me a favor."

"What?"

"I want you to just lie back and listen to the sound of my voice."

He was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she heard him shift, and he sighed deeply. "I miss you, Jess. I need to feel you."

"Relax." She kept her voice slow and calm, smiling softly as her fingers stroked naturally over the blanket beside her - the way his always did when he was completely relaxed and falling asleep. She smiled as she considered that. She always knew when he was drifting off to sleep. His fingers would always begin to stroke whatever they were touching. "Close your eyes and listen to my voice, Face."

He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Just ease down. Let that tension melt out of you. The way it would if you were lying right here next to me."

She could hear his breathing deepen. Slow and steady. For a few seconds, she just listened to it, whispering those same words of comfort and relaxation over and over. When he finally answered her, it was barely a whisper, and void of that desperate tension.

"I love you, Jess..."

"I love you, too." She smiled as she let her fingers play on the comforter, sighing softly. "I love touching you. All of you. The way your hair feels silky and smooth when I run my fingers though it, the stubble on your chin as my lips brush against it, the little noise you make when I kiss that spot you like, just under your ear."

The deep, relaxed sigh he gave made her smile. Even without asking a thing about the room he was in, what he was wearing, how he was lying, she could see it in her mind. Lying on his back on top of the tacky, motel room bedspread, eyes closed and hair tossed in that messy, sexed up look. Jacket off and shirt unbuttoned. Hands wandering over his skin. He loved touch. He needed it to function, like food and water and even air. And years of being separated had taught them both how to use the sound of each others' voice to make that touch something more than self-exploration.

"Touching your chest... your abs... all the muscles and the scars and the intimate spots that nobody else knows you like. The spots that make your heart beat faster against mine."

He moaned softly, and she smiled as her fingers moved to her thigh, stroking slowly. It felt so natural when he was near her - even on the phone, a million miles away. That raw sensuality and tactile comfort. It had everything and nothing to do with sex. It was simply him, and who he was.

"Caressing you, slowly opening your zipper, letting my fingers wrap around you. The way it's so heavy and hot against my hand."

He groaned - a deep, soft sound low in his throat. She could see him in her mind's eye, fingers playing lightly, stroking until he was hard. She'd seen him do it only a few times. Most of the time, it was too tempting to touch him, and to feel him touch her, to step back and simply watch him. But the memory of the few times she had was crystal clear. The way he visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping against the bed, legs slowly falling open, chest rising and falling with every slow, deep breath. She'd learned a lot about the way he liked to be touched just by watching him touch himself. Gentle but firm, fingers wandering.

The heat and wetness was gathering between her thighs. Her hand moved there. She couldn't have stopped it if she wanted to.

"Those slow, firm strokes... hitting that little spot you like just under the head..."

"Jessica..."

Her own fingers slid inside her heat. Her own breathing was becoming harsher, and she didn't try to hide that. It was his to share.

"I could touch you like this forever, Face. That slow, building pace... faster... until your hips are thrusting up to meet my hand... without shame..."

She could hear his breathing drop into that steady rhythm, panting as his hand sped up. Soft sounds escaped him as he got closer to climax, and she smiled at the picture of him in her mind.

"Face, you are gorgeous."

The sounds he made were fuel on the fire. She whispered back, matching his pace, letting him lead until she finally heard him groan with release. She was only a few seconds behind him, and she shut her eyes harder as she pressed her hips up towards her hand, gasping with pleasure.

The sound of his breathing, his voice, brought her back to earth. "I love you, Jess," he whispered between deep, calming breaths. "Thank you."

"Hmmm. Feel better?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Even she could hear the content, self assured smile in her voice. It was a heady, powerful feeling - one that she couldn't have even imagined before he'd made her feel it. She remained silent for a moment, just listening to the sound of his breathing, deep and slow. But there was no indication that he was moving. He was just... enjoying. Just the way she wanted him to.

"Face?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated a moment, reluctant to break the calm peace that had settled over them. "Is everyone _really _okay? Or are you just telling me that?"

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"Lie? No. But you have a tendency to omit facts once in a while, when you think they'll bother me."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he gave a deep sigh. "It's hard, Jess," he admitted softly

"What's hard?"

"Seeing him again. It's hard on everyone."

"Where did you find him?"

"In Bangkok." He breathed deep and slow. "And I just can't stop thinking about how much I want to shoot him and be done with it."

"Don't do that, Face."

"Why? He deserves it."

She paused for a moment. If Cruiser died, she certainly wouldn't mind. Face would feel no guilt. For a moment, she wasn't sure what answer to give him.

"Because it's not what you went there to do," she finally answered. "So do what you went there to do and come home to me."

He didn't answer for a long moment.

"I don't need Cruiser dead, Face. I need you safe in my arms. That's all I need."

He was quiet for a few seconds more. When he finally spoke again, his voice was that deep, intimate whisper that made her toes curl. "When this is over, Jess, I'm going to take you on a vacation. Anywhere you want to go, anywhere in the world. We'll relax. See everything. Make love for hours..."

She smiled. "Anyplace with a bedroom. And maybe a beach."

He chuckled quietly. "Definitely a beach. I'll make the reservations at a resort in Hawaii, or Mexico..." He breathed deep and let it out slow, still perfectly relaxed. "Maybe Australia..."

"Face, I don't give a damn if we end up in Cleveland, so long as you're there."

"Or Virginia?" he teased.

She laughed. "Or Virginia."

He sighed softly, and she closed her eyes to savor the sound of it. "I love you so much..."

"I love you, too. And I'll be waiting for you."

***X*X*X***

Cruiser was pacing. Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye as he walked to the window and back again, wringing his hands.

"Problem, Sergeant?"

Cruiser turned to him and sighed. "Sorry. It's just... This feels like a fucking cage."

"Someplace you want to go?"

"No. Yeah. I dunno." Cruiser flopped down in the chair near the window and leaned forward, his head in his hands. "I need a drink."

Hannibal studied him for a moment, then flicked off the TV and dropped the bulky remote on the bed beside him. "You should get some sleep."

Cruiser sighed deeply and dropped his hands between his knees, folding and wringing them one over the other. His face twisted into a mix of emotions so confused they were hard to identify. He tried several times to speak before he actually found words.

"Colonel, I never really got a chance to clear the air. With what happened back in 'Nam."

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, scrutinizing him carefully. If he wasn't sincere, he'd become a much better liar than he was twenty years ago. But a stint with the CIA could potentially explain that. And time was the best teacher. Hannibal looked away before he spoke, almost casually.

"You could've cleared the air at any time, Sergeant. We weren't _that _hard to find."

Shifting under the watchful gaze, Cruiser pushed himself forward, elbows on his knees. He brought his eyes up from the carpet after a moment. "I know."

"So why didn't you?"

Cruiser hesitated, searching for words. "It just never seemed like the right time to drag all that stuff up."

Hannibal said nothing.

Cruiser took a deep breath, and shut his eyes. "There's a lot that happened back there. Things I'm not proud of, but..."

He looked like he was ready to start pacing again. Sure enough, he stood to his feet. But instead of pacing, he walked to the window and stopped there, staring outside with his hands in his pockets.

"Look, I should've dealt with all of this a long time ago. I fucked that up. But it was just... It was easier not to."

"Well it's not going to be any easier to deal with it now. Don't expect it to be."

Cruiser sighed, and lowered his head. "How does this end, Hannibal? You never answered that."

"Right now, we wait to see what Stockwell does. That'll tell us just how badly he wants you."

"What difference does it make? He's either going to get what he wants or he's going to burn you all. You know that."

"Not necessarily." Hannibal paused. "Stockwell's always been very willing to strike a deal. We'll see what he comes up with."

Cruiser's eyes widened. "You'd do that? You'd actually bargain with that dickhead?"

"I'm not promising anything. Especially not on behalf of my team. And especially not with what you did to Murdock."

Cruiser looked away.

_ "I don't know what part Cruiser had to play in what happened to Murdock." Hannibal set the cigar between his teeth again as he watched Face. "All I know is what I saw in that chopper. But I might've done the same thing in your shoes. Which is not to say that makes it right."_

_ "It doesn't make it fair, either," Face said bitterly. "Murdock didn't do a damn thing to deserve that. Cruiser did. Every fucking bit of it." He looked up slowly, eyes dead and cold as they locked with Hannibal's. "And I'm not sorry."_

"You almost got him killed, Cruiser."

Cruiser's jaw tightened.

"You're lucky he doesn't remember any of it. Because if he did, if he had to live with that every day, and think about it when he saw you, I would've had no reservations about dragging you back to Stockwell. Under suicide watch if I had to."

Cruiser watched Hannibal, brow furrowed. "He doesn't remember it?"

"After you went to Japan, we had another mission. Hanoi. I'm sure you heard about it."

"Yeah..."

"While we were up there, Murdock commandeered a helicopter without orders and crashed into the jungle. It took us a week to find him and he went through a lot in that week, on top of everything else. He doesn't remember the last few weeks of Vietnam."

"At all?"

"That's hard to say. We don't talk about it. I know he doesn't remember it clearly."

Cruiser watched him for a moment, then looked away. "Colonel, what am I supposed to say to all this, huh? I don't..." He trailed off, and shook his head as he looked away. "I've got no right asking you for help. Hell, I'm not sure I'd be willing to do it if the tables were turned."

"Then I'm glad the tables aren't turned."

Very slowly, Cruiser pulled his eyes back up to Hannibal's. "I'm not looking for a handout, Colonel."

His tone wasn't defensive, but it definitely had backbone to it. For the first time, Hannibal truly recognized the soldier that he'd worked alongside twenty years ago.

_ "He's got one hell of a record, Cruiser." As he leaned forward, Hannibal put his head in his hand. "He's good at what he does. But I honestly don't think it's worth it."_

_ "So bag him," Cruiser answered with a shrug. _

_ Hannibal was quiet for a minute. Anything he decided, he knew Cruiser would be behind him, one hundred percent. With a sigh, he stood up, then took a few paces. "He's good. He's damn good. Everyone who's ever worked with him says I'll be lucky to have him. But I sure as hell don't like what's in his past."_

_ "Why?"_

_ Hannibal was quiet for a moment before he continued. "I don't know if I can trust him, Cruiser."_

_ "And that's different now because it was drugs he was trading and not skin?" _

_ "It's different because he did all of that stuff while all of his commanding officers didn't know a goddamn thing about it. He's good. In more ways than one. And I'll be damned if I want someone who's that good of a liar on my team..."_


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"You talked to Jess, didn't you?"

Face glanced over at Murdock, over top of the flimsy containers of rice and curry and god-only-knew what kind of meat. If he had to guess, Face would say it was supposed to be Indian food. But apparently there weren't a lot of Indians in Cairo. It lacked... taste.

"What makes you say that?" Face asked, lowering his head to pick at his food a little more. He really was hungry. He'd realized it as soon as Murdock came bounding into the room with takeout and set up a "picnic" on the floor. But this didn't quite compare to a nice medium-rare steak with a glass of chilled Cabernet...

"Hard to hide, Face," Murdock said. "You don't look like you're so tense you're gonna break. And you have a variation of your 'just got laid' look."

Face raised a brow. "One of these days I'm going to figure out what that look is, exactly."

"I thought you said you could tell. I seem to remember a certain conversation..."

"I usually know when I got laid. Not sure about this look you pick up on."

Murdock just grinned.

Face reclined a bit, back on the bed with one knee up, amused by Murdock for a moment. Finally, he dropped his fork and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Whatever Stockwell's going to do," he sighed, "I hope he does it quick. I'm ready to go home."

"Home?"

Murdock let the question hang, but Face only opened his eyes again and gave him a faint smile.

"I don't know, Face. Never pays to count on anything when Stockwell's involved. Other than that you're gonna be screwed blue and tattooed."

"Oh, I have no faith whatsoever in Stockwell." Face sighed deeply. "But Hannibal..."

"Has no faith in him either."

Face laughed at that. Actually laughed. "No, I mean, I have plenty of faith in Hannibal."

"Oh. Yeah." Murdock paused a beat. "I question a lot of things Face, but never that. We all have faith in him. That's how it was with the Thunderbirds, too. Having faith in the squad leader. If things went bad, all of the squad went down together. If the leader plowed it into the dirt, the wingmen followed. It's just how it is when you follow someone."

Face was quiet for a moment, considering that. "The crazy thing about it is when you can see him plowing into the dirt and you still follow him."

"Of course you do." Murdock's grin was wide. "That's what we all do. Besides, after he's meet terra firma at 520 miles per hour, what's the point of staying aloft anymore? If you're gonna go out, you do it all together."

Face let the silence linger for a moment as he considered that. "You think normal people are like that? Have people they believe in like that?"

"Hard to say, Face. I've never been normal. Course if I was normal, I never would have been friends with you. Or the other guys. And, normal or not, that's all that really matters."

"I don't really aspire for normalcy. It's boring. But sometimes it's _really_ obvious just how... abnormal my entire life has been."

"Would you change any of it, if you could?"  
Face took a minute to really consider that. All of the things he'd lived through - both good and bad. Every twist of fate and chance and choice. If it had all led him right here, he could honestly say that not only could he not envision it any other way. He didn't _want_ to.

"No," he said confidently.

"Yeah. Me either."

The knock on the door startled them both. Face glanced at the clock as he stood, reaching for the pistol at his side out of habit. That wasn't a knock from any member of the team. There was no familiar pattern to it.

No peep hole. Keeping the chain across, Face opened the door just enough to see who it was. On the other side of it, in the well lit hallway, Cruiser was standing with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," Cruiser greeted, forcing a smile. "You got a minute?"

"What do you want?"

"I just want to talk to you."

"So talk."

Cruiser laughed tightly. "Think maybe I could come out of the hallway first?"

Face hesitated a long moment, and cast a look over his shoulder at Murdock before he pushed the door closed, pulled the chain, and stood behind it as he opened it wide enough for Cruiser to walk through. He kept the pistol in hand, but at his side, not making a show of it as he closed the door behind him.

Cruiser's eyes lingered on Murdock. "Think you could give us a minute?" he asked pointedly.

"Why?" Face interrupted before Murdock had a chance to answer. "Anything you have to say worth hearing, he's got every right to hear it."

Face didn't put the gun down. He tucked it into the back of his jeans, which were hanging loose on his waist given the unfastened belt. Cruiser noted the gun, he was sure, but he didn't point it out in any way.

"Look, man, I just wanted to clear the air about... stuff that's in the past."

Face was very careful to have no reaction to that statement. "Which part?" he asked flatly.

"All of it."

"In that case, start with Jessica."

Cruiser sighed, and looked away. "What about her?" His expression was somewhere between pleading and sarcastic as he looked up again. "Come on, Face. Tell me you never had a relationship go bad."

Face said nothing, just stared at him. He didn't speak, didn't flinch, didn't change facial expression. He just watched and waited for more.

"That was twenty years ago, Face."

"Sixteen," Face corrected.

"Exactly. It was a long time ago. And hell, she's over it; why aren't you?"

Face raised a brow. "Over it?"

"Look, what the hell am I supposed to say? You wanna mark your territory, you got her, okay? But if we can't even be in the same room together without looking for a reason to rip each other's throats out, why didn't you just take me straight to Stockwell?"

"Because it wasn't my call."

"Yeah? Since when did Hannibal start running a dictatorship?"

"Hannibal's always been in charge," Face answered emotionlessly. "You know that."

"Yeah, and I also know how he runs his team. You don't _not _have a say in things."

Face didn't answer. Cruiser stared at him for a long moment. Murdock had settled into the corner, arms folded, watching silently.

"Okay, so there's no way in hell we're ever gonna bury this hatchet?" Cruiser asked.

"Over Jessica? No. But if you want to try, you can start with the photos."

"Yeah, and what about the rest of it?"

"What about it?"

"I can stand here and make apologies until I'm blue in the face but it's not going to do a damn bit of good if you aren't on board. And you're _far _from innocent here."

"And I'm not apologizing," Face said frankly. "Not for any of it."

Cruiser maintained his gaze on Face, nodding slightly, jaw set. "That's fine. I can live with that," he finally said. He didn't flinch, didn't look away as Face stared at him coldly. With a deep breath, he finished softly. "I just want to move the hell on."

Face stared at him steadily. "You're asking a lot from a team you burned."

Cruiser scowled at him. "I didn't fuckin' burn you."

Face's fists clenched, but he didn't make a move. "Yes, Cruiser. You betrayed this whole team when you ran your mouth."

Cruiser shot a quick look at Murdock, then back at Face. "You sure you want to have this conversation with an audience?"

"Audience?" Face gave a quick bark of cynical laughter. "He's the one you ought to be talking to, not me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know _exactly _what I mean, Cruiser."

Cruiser growled. Then he took a deep breath, put his shoulders back. "Look, I'm not sorry about what happened in Vietnam," he said. "Not any more than you are. But you never got all the facts on what happened back there."

"Don't even start trying to tell me you were framed."

"You play this of like you were defending your team, or avenging Murdock," Cruiser said, stepping in a little closer. "But you didn't go off the deep end because of what happened to Murdock. You went off because of what I said about Thanh Dai. And because you realized how sick and twisted it was that you might have actually _liked _what he -"

Face's fist was up and across Cruiser's jaw so fast and so hard, he see it coming until it was too late to do anything about it. He stumbled back, immediately gathered his feet under him. Mumbling something that sounded like, "Oh, fuck this," he took a hard step forward, pulled back his fist, and swung on Face - a single right cross that Face didn't even try to avoid.

Face was already retaliating, blood singing in his ears and draining from his mouth, anger and adrenaline drowning out rational thought. The next thing he was really aware of was Hannibal's order to stop, and the arms pulling him back for the second time that day. Once they were apart, he didn't struggle to get free. Cruiser did. He was trying to break BA's grip, yelling threats.

"You wanna go, Face? I'm right fucking here!"

The struggles ended with Cruiser up against the wall. He landed a hit on BA that made the much larger man stumbled back slightly, and Hannibal was in his place a moment later, with a hand on Cruiser's throat.

"I said you stand the fuck down!"

The words, the tone, the action - none of it was Hannibal. Too much anger and over-assertion of authority. Hannibal had never controlled his men by force, least of all Cruiser. But nothing about his current actions was negotiable, either. Cruiser glared at Hannibal, fists balled, then finally unclenched them. At the gesture of submission - however slight - Hannibal backed off.

"Cruiser, you're with me," Hannibal said firmly. "Murdock with BA, Frankie with Face. And that is how the rest of this night is going to go."

"Splitting up your problem children, Colonel?" Cruiser snapped.

"Oh, fuck you," Murdock stepped in, indignant.

"Enough!"

Hannibal stepped back and looked straight at Cruiser. "Move. Now."

Cruiser hesitated, rubbing his neck, and BA laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards the doorway. "You heard the man. Move!"  
Cruiser immediately wrapped his arm back around BA's offending hand, turning into it. His other hand shoved BA backwards. "Back off!"

Regaining his stance, BA growled audibly as he stepped closer, encroaching on Cruiser's personal space, forcing him to take a step backwards. Cruiser's jaw set as he went nose to nose with BA. "Whaddaya gonna do, huh?" he snarled, his hands tensing, ready for the fight.

But he didn't swing.

"If I were you, Cruiser," Hannibal said low, "I would keep very much in mind that the stakes on your end of this are life and death. Now move."

Finally, Cruiser stepped back, cast one more lingering glare at Face, and headed toward the door. Hannibal gestured for Murdock and BA to go ahead of him, and locked eyes with Face only briefly before he followed them out, closing the door behind him.

*X*X*X*

Frankie's eyes opened suddenly, though he wasn't sure why. The TV was on, muted, and the dim grey light of it cast shadows over the room. Face was asleep in the next bed. The room was silent. His throat was dry. The bed creaked as he sat up. Instantly, Face's eyes were open and on him.

"Geez, Face, relax. I just need to get a drink. Is that okay?"

After watching him for another moment, Face finally closed his eyes again and turned toward the window. Frankie stood and looked around for a clock. No clock in here. It was the middle of the night. That was all he knew.

He wandered to the bathroom, but just the smell of the water was enough to change his mind about drinking it. He poured it out again and walked back to the room. He was trying to look on the bright side. There was a bright side here; he was sure of it. After all, they could be in one of those hotels where the bathroom was at the end of the hall, and used by everyone on the floor. Of course, they could also be free men, getting pardons from Stockwell and planning the rest of their lives out.

He sighed as he let that thought pass. There was a part of him that really, really wanted to just pick up the phone, call Stockwell, and get it over with. There was another part of him - a bigger part - that knew he never would. He'd been down that road before. Stockwell knew nothing about loyalty compared to these guys. Stockwell wouldn't be there when the shit hit the fan. Hannibal would. And whatever Hannibal said, that was what Frankie was going to go with. After all this time, he damn well deserved it.

Even if it didn't make a damn bit of sense.

Frankie grabbed the remote control and turned on the volume to the TV, keeping it low so as not to disturb Face. Really, he didn't need the volume. He couldn't understand the language anyways. But it was something to fill the eerie silence in the room. Maybe something to wrap his mind around until he could fall back asleep. Maybe they had pay-per-view. Or anything other than these low budget, soap opera based B movies. Couldn't get much less interesting than that.

Lying back, Frankie put an arm under his head. He let the lull of an unfamiliar language ease him back to sleep. It seemed like just a few seconds later that he was startled awake by something unfamiliar. He wasn't sure what it was. As he tried to open his eyes to look around and see, he suddenly realized he couldn't. Fully alert and fully aware, he suddenly realized that his body wasn't responding to the orders his brain was giving it.

"Sorry, Frank." The whisper in his ear was so close it would've made him jump if his body had been capable of movement. But it wasn't. He was paralyzed. He couldn't even open his eyes. "Nothing personal."

Every part of his brain that was capable of thought was firing in panic. Face! Face was asleep right in the next bed, wasn't he? He tried again to cry out, but he couldn't take more than a shallow breath. As the pain started at the side of his neck, just underneath his ear, he barely managed even a breath. He tried to scream, tried to fight back as he felt the blade slice across his throat. But he couldn't move. He couldn't even see the man who was doing this to him. All he could do was listen to the blood gurgle in his throat as his brain screamed in terror and his lungs simply kept that shallow rhythm. Very slowly, the panicking thoughts in his mind faded into the blackness...


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Make a sound and you die."

Face's hand immediately went for the pistol under his pillow but the bite of the blade into the soft pressure point under his ear stopped him. "Ah ah. Don't do it. Not unless you want to be breathing out of your neck."

The level of alertness Face attained, instantly, was something he'd not felt since he'd woken up to mortar rounds going off right outside his door. There was no thought, no attempt to figure out what, or why, or how. Just instinct. Fight or flight. He fought.

Pushing himself up from the bed, he ducked his head as far away from the blade as he possibly could. The man leaning over him - whoever it was - lost his balance, and Face went for the gun.

It wasn't there.

Thoughts came together fast. A quick stock of his surroundings, of why he was so alert. Cruiser. Cairo. Stockwell. Hotel room. Hannibal was in the next room. Frankie in the room with him. TV on, turned up too loud. Arm across the back of his neck, pushing him down towards a blade under his throat.

Death. The smell of blood hit him with sickening force. Cruiser's whole weight was on him, pushing him towards that blade. It took Face's whole concentration and strength to push back.

Yell. Hannibal was right in the next room. But the wave of nausea and confusion that suddenly hit him made the execution of that plan impossible. Dizzy and confused, he swooned and fell forward, only vaguely aware that the blade lowered with him instead of him lowering onto it. Confused, he felt the space under the pillow, looking for... something. What was he looking for?

_"Face, is this loaded?"_

_ He gave her a strange look as he carefully took the pistol from her. "What good would it be if it wasn't?"_

_ Jessica frowned and watched him closely as he tucked the weapon back under his pillow. "Alright, that's... a little too much for me."_

_ He had to laugh at the look on her face, thoroughly perplexed by the fact that he kept a gun under his pillow. But it had been there for years, ever since his first night in Vietnam. He smiled at her as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. _

_ "Would it make you feel better if I kept it on the nightstand when you're here?"_

_ "Much."_

_ "Alright." He dropped his head to kiss her lips. "For you."_

"Ah, there it is." The unfamiliar voice cut smoothly through his confused thoughts. It didn't belong anywhere near the warmth and comfort of Jessica's touch, even in a memory. That was a voice from the dark past he'd left behind. Where had it come from?

"I was wondering why you were so goddamn feisty. Must've misjudged your weight."

That voice was not inside his head. It was outside. Where was he? Not his bed. Confused. _Drugged, Face. You're drugged._ How had he gotten drugged? The fear fed into the adrenaline, and brought back hints of clarity. Cruiser. That voice was Cruiser's. The real Cruiser, not just a memory.

"Figured it was better to err on the side of not enough rather than too much. I didn't want you passing out on me."

Face swooned, eyes sliding closed, falling into the blackness.

_"You mean you really meant that? You're really afraid of the dark?"_

_ Face stared up at the shadows on the ceiling as he stroked his fingers through Jessica's hair, feeling her fingers stroking along his side. "I'm afraid of being _alone _in the dark."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "Because it's too much like..." He fought for a moment to put the feeling into words. "Like dying."_

"The disorientation won't last." The voice of a demon. "It's just to keep you nice and calm for a few minutes."

As Face opened his eyes, he saw the outline if the monster at his bedside.

"Hannibal..." He was trying to yell. But it only came out as a whisper.

"Oh, I don't think you want Hannibal to see you like this."

_ "Come on, Murdock. Hannibal's going to be here any minute. You don't want him to see you like this."_

_ "Face? Face, please..."_

_ "Let me get you to the team room."_

_ "No..."_

Confused, disoriented, his mind swirling with confused voices he couldn't even place, Face was nevertheless slowly beginning to recognize the fear that was coiling around his stomach. It was tightening slowly, making the nausea progressively worse.

"You'll like this one much better," the dark creature growled at him in a voice that couldn't be human. He was standing beside his bed, filling a syringe. Doctor. Medic. Cruiser.

"You wouldn't believe how long it took me to get the dosage right."

"Stop..."

_"Whenever you're afraid Templeton, close your eyes very tight and concentrate on the Blessed Mother."_

_ That advice didn't give him near as much comfort as it was supposed to. "Sister, the Blessed Mother is dead. How can she stop anything bad from happening?"_

"Stop, Cruiser."

Cruiser tapped the syringe, then knelt at the side of the bed and grabbed Face's arm, flipping it over. Face tried to pull it away, but he was weak and dizzy, and no match for the grip on his forearm.

"Just enough pancuronium to keep you from being able to struggle too much. Not so much that you're dead weight."

Calm. It was hard to breathe. Panic. Cruiser was injecting something into his arm. Body responding slowly to the commands his brain was giving it. No ability to fight.

"Hannibal..."

"Just enough to keep you docile, but not unconscious. Enough to confuse, but not enough to make you stupid. Not so much it doesn't hurt."

This had to be a nightmare...

"What do you want?" Face managed as Cruiser withdrew and set the now-empty syringe on the nightstand.

"Oh, we'll get there in a minute. Don't worry."

Another wave of nausea, and Face's eyes slid closed involuntarily.

_ "Keep your eyes open... They know..."_

_ Blood and urine and cum and filth was all over Murdock. Face felt sick. "Oh God. Jesus." He put up a hand to cover his face. His chest was so tight he couldn't breathe. "God, don't..." His hand began to shake, and he balled it into a fist. "I'm sorry. My God, I'm so sorry."_

Eyes open again. Face was sitting on the floor now, back against the bed. It took him a moment to figure out where he was. The room was dim and grey, lit only by the flickering light from the TV. It was like something out of a horror movie. With a vague, confused sense of not-caring, he brought his eyes into focus on the body that was on the bed in front of him, surrounded by blood. He knew that man. Another soldier on the battlefield...

"Welcome back, LT."

Face's eyes tracked with blurred vision to the man standing by the dresser. He watched as Cruiser poured a shot of clear fluid into a plastic cup and threw it back. Watching the sudden movement made Face dizzy, and he shut his eyes.

"What do you want?" Face knew, instinctively, that Cruiser did want something. He just wasn't sure what it was. Why did he feel so... empty?

"It's time to even out the score a little."

Face took in a deep, slow breath, dropping his head back against the bed behind him. "Score," he repeated. "What score?"

"Guess."

Face forced his eyes to focus just for a brief instant - long enough to see the smirk on Cruiser's lips as he withdrew a long blade from the sheath on his belt. Face had to be dreaming this. Cruiser hadn't had a blade on his belt. That's why he felt nothing. This wasn't really real.

Face's head lulled to the side. It felt too heavy for his neck. But he righted it again as he forced his eyes to lock on Cruiser. "You killed Frankie."

"Cannon fodder."

_ "I'm going to fucking kill him."_

_ "Hell, no, Face. No. Please." Every shudder wracked Murdock's damaged body. "Don't go lookin' for trouble. Please..." _

_ "Murdock..."_

_ "Don't. M'already scared for you. If I think you're gonna do somethin' crazy..."_

_ "Don't worry about me, Murdock. I can take care of myself."_

_ "I couldn't..."_

Face's thoughts were blurred with memories. Unfamiliar music - Middle Eastern. Where was he? Hotel. Why? How...?

"You know what the funny thing is, Face?"

_ "If you were going to sabotage the team, why the hell didn't you turn on me? Why Murdock?"_

Memories. Ebb and fade. He could barely follow them. Face's eyes rolled back.

_ "I sold him out so you could watch him suffer and know that it was all your fault."_

"Not what you think," Face slurred, unsure of his words. He wasn't even sure he was speaking English. His thoughts were a complete blur. "Not like... no..."

Cruiser moved toward him. He stopped only a few feet away and crouched down, eye to eye with Face.

"You got it all wrong," Cruiser whispered. "All of this - the way you fucked up my entire life, destroyed the team and everything of value I had... And you got it wrong."

Face shook his head. The movement was almost enough to make him fall over. The thoughts were coming clearer now, slowly, but he could barely move. No sense of balance, of the line between reality and the dream state of unconsciousness. Between memories and nightmares.

"What are you talking about?" he managed.

"I never spread rumors, Face," Cruiser said bitterly. "I never tried to get him killed. I wasn't sad when it happened, for damn sure. But I didn't start it."

Face was still shaking his head. Confused as he was, he could only hope that he was actually following the conversation, understanding what Cruiser meant. "Not true."

"You two could've gone on fucking each other's brains out every night 'til kingdom come, Face."

Face swallowed. "That's not it. Not how it was."

_"Yeah, I'm sure there's at least a dozen reasons for two guys to be lip-locked and dry humping." _

_ Face shrugged. "Well, at least one or two. But hey, what do I know? You're the expert."_

_ "Yeah, well being the resident expert, I can tell you there's only one explanation: a couple fairies getting so hot and bothered for each other that they forgot to lock the fucking door."_

_ "That's an interesting theory."_

_ "Theory my ass. I walked in there and you two were sporting more wood than Pinocchio!"_

Attack. Face registered it, but he was powerless to actually do anything about it as Cruiser grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head back against the bedpost. Face's eyelids fluttered, his ears ringing from the force of the blow.

The man in front of him was saying something - a low growl that Face couldn't understand. Dazed and panicked, he forced his eyes open again. The realization of how helpless he was right now sparked fear. The fear opened the floodgates for the adrenaline. The adrenaline gave him strength and focus he couldn't have otherwise managed. He pushed off of the wall, into Cruiser, knocking him over backwards.

The wrestling match was short lived. Adrenaline or no, Face was dizzy and weak and confused. Within seconds, he found himself pressed down against the floor with Cruiser's hand on the back of his head, grinding his cheek into the carpet.

"You wanna fuck with me, Face?" Cruiser growled. "You _sure _you wanna fuck with me?"

Cruiser put a knee into his back, pushing him down hard. Face had no strength, and certainly lacked the focus, to push him off.

"Eighteen years, I've been waiting for you. Wondering when I'd see you again. Always knew it would happen. Just a matter of time."

Face struggled. It was instinct. He had to get this man off of his back. But the bite of a blade against the back of his neck made him stop. He stilled, and let his head drop back to the floor under Cruiser's heavy hand.

"I thought I'd have to bring you to me with those kids of yours. Had I known you'd fall so hard for that slut Jessica, I wouldn't have even needed them. I would've just kept her hanging on 'til I needed you."

_ "__I did __anything __he wanted." _

_ Jessica's tears brought to the surface every bit of protective anger Face had ever felt in his life. _

_ "I took drugs from him just because he gave them to me. Let strangers..." Her voice faltered, and she dropped her head, chin to her chest. "In the bathroom of a club. Guys I didn't even know. The more it hurt, the more humiliating, the better."_

_ She looked up at him pleadingly, tears flowing in rivers down her cheeks. "What kind of a person enjoys that?"_

"But then, lo and behold, you turn up working for Stockwellof all people. Now how the hell am I supposed to feel about that, Face? How am I _really _supposed to feel about that?"

"I don't know," Face admitted, confused thoughts racing. The memories and the present threat, the feel of the knife digging under his skin. Hot, sticky blood was draining down the side of his neck.

"I'll tell you how I feel about it, Face. I feel like Santa knew exactly what I wanted for Christmas this year." Cruiser dragged the knife up to Face's cheek. "And he sent it right to me, wrapped in a nice, neat little bow."

Face struggled to take in a breath with Cruiser's full weight on him. The blade dug deep - almost deep enough to cut all the way _through _his cheek. Fear. Panic.

"Hanni-!"

Cruiser's hand clamped over his mouth and nose. Already hyperventilating from the fear and pain, Face immediately felt the lack of oxygen as Cruiser's blade moved from his cheek to his throat, cutting deep until he paused, with the knife wedged under Face's ear.

"Try that again," Cruiser whispered low, "and I will cut your throat so fast, you won't have a chance to finish. Do you understand me?"

Air. He needed air. Vision blurry. Head held down. Cruiser kneeling on his back. Couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't nod. Face gave a desperate moan into Cruiser's hand - the only sound he could make. Cruiser removed his hand and touched one finger to Face's lips, against the hot, salty blood that was draining right into his mouth. "Shh..."

The panic was overriding the confusion. Adrenaline was a powerful drug, and it was flowing through his veins in a way he'd not felt in years. As he stared up at the man leaning over him, Face could feel his hands trembling.

"You don't want to do this, Cruiser."

He couldn't move. He couldn't fight back. His brain was giving all the orders, but his body was so sluggish to respond, it was impossible. The confusion was fading into a full awareness of what was happening. But he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Cruiser was still smiling as he shifted his weight. The sharp edge of the knife moved from Face's neck to the collar of his shirt.

"Whatever you do to me -" Face swallowed hard as the blade's tip dragged on his skin. Cruiser didn't stop until he'd slit the T-shirt all the way down his back. "- you'll have my whole team to reckon with."

Cruiser didn't answer, but Face could still feel the bite of the blade. He felt it as it moved down, as it traced the nearly invisible scars on his back - twenty-year-old memories of a bamboo cane. But Cruiser saw them as well as Face felt them - seared into his flesh forever. It didn't matter that they had faded with time. He knew every one of them. And that knife found them all, slitting them open.

"What do you want from me, Cruiser?" Face hissed. Deep cuts... blood loss...

"I want you to bleed, Lieutenant."

Face's breathing was coming in shallow, quick breaths. He tried in vain to even it out. Cruiser's fist moved into his hair, gripping tightly.

"Then what? What are you going do, Cruiser? Kill me?"

"If I say yes, what are you gonna do about it?" Cruiser leaned down, close to Face's ear. "Cry for mercy?"

Indignant anger blazed, fueled by the pain. "In your dreams."

Face tried once more to push himself up again. But his efforts didn't get him far before a sudden, searing pain took the breath right out of his lungs.


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

"Wakey wakey, Faceman!" Murdock knocked on the door, and made sure his voice was loud enough to understand what he was saying from inside the room. "Let's go find the biggest, blackest pot of coffee in Cairo. Whaddaya say?"

No answer. He knocked again. He frowned. "Face?"

He tried the door, found it locked. Of course it was locked. It was a hotel room. Why wouldn't it be locked? He knocked again. "Frankie?"

Nothing. With a deep frown, Murdock reached into his jacket pocket for the neat set of lock picks he had folded there. It wasn't half as pretty as Face's set, but it did the job every time. A moment later, he pushed the door open and stared into the dark room.

Something was wrong.

"Face?"

No answer. Without thought, Murdock reached for his pistol.

Lights off. Window open. Tenth story. Escape route? Escape from what? The shower was running. Something was very wrong. Murdock could feel it - a thickness that hung in the air. As he breathed in deep, the smell suddenly hit him with such force it blanked out every thought he had.

_Don't breathe. The smell was enough to make him gag. Don't move. Everything hurt. Blood and bodily fluids. Broken in the darkness..._

Murdock's thoughts returned to the present very abruptly and he found himself staring at Frankie's lifeless body. For a long moment, he just stared. No need to check for a pulse; his throat was cut from one side to the other and his skin had long ago taken that ashen tone to it. He was long gone.

Face. Where was Face?

Murdock suddenly realized there were pools of blood on the floor, the other bed, a trail leading to the bathroom. Unable to breathe, he bolted to the bathroom, where he could still hear the shower running. That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him want to vomit as he noticed the blood on the door handle. He didn't see it until after he'd felt it on his palm - warm and sticky. His heart skipped a beat. It was still warm. Whatever had happened here, had he interrupted it by knocking on the door? He pushed the door the rest of the way open.

_ "Murdock! Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?" _

_ Face's voice. Murdock curled in tighter on himself. "Shhh... Don't." It was hard to get the words out through his swollen lips. "Head hurts."_

_ Face was closer. "What happened to you?"_

The sight of Face, curled naked into a ball in the corner of the shower stall, his skin so pale it was almost blue, brought a memory Murdock couldn't place. It had no setting, no context. But it was a crystal clear snapshot in his mind - a moment in time that he knew he'd been a part of.

What the hell was he thinking? He didn't have time for memories right now!

"Face!"

Murdock was inside the shower in a flash, gasping at the cold spray that made every muscle in his body tense all at once. He dropped the gun on the floor, in the water that was tinted red as it flowed towards the drain.

"Look at me, Face. Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me!"

_ Pressure on his bleeding lip. Murdock pulled away from it with a sob, struggling and shaking. He couldn't breathe for the panic. "No. Please! Please no more..."_

_ He was sobbing, shaking, full of fear and unashamed to beg._

_ "It's just water, Murdock."_

_ "Please..." _

_ Please no more. It would kill him. He couldn't take any more._

Murdock stared, jaw slack, as another snapshot flashed in his mind. It hit him so hard, he couldn't think. Face was swinging blindly, but Murdock had dropped back, out of range. When he hit nothing, Face curled back in on himself, turning his head away. He shook violently, wrapping his arms around his knees.

_ "My God... We need to get you to the dispensary."_

_ "No! No, no, no, no, nononononooooo... No. Face, no."_

_ "Murdock, you're hurt. You need medical care. You..." _

_ "No, no, Face, please..."_

There was no time for this. But Murdock couldn't breathe. Already shivering from the cold, unable to react or even to think, Murdock did what he knew he should've done in the first place.

"Hannibal!"

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was out of bed, and into the next room so fast, he woke up there. In the doorway to the bathroom, staring at a bleeding man and a panicking one. It took him a minute to identify them any more specifically. Face. Face was hurt and Murdock was the voice he'd heard that brought him running.

Pistol in hand, Hannibal stepped further into the room and flipped the light on. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. The blood was everywhere - pooled on the floor and both beds. And in the center of the bed nearest to the door was the ashen body of one of his own. Dead. Hannibal's thoughts stopped there only briefly. It was a fact. Move on.

"It's okay, Facey..." Murdock's voice behind him, inside of the bathroom, cut through his shock. "I'm just going to turn the water off, okay?"

Hannibal moved back to the bathroom and surveyed the scene. Blood. Face was alive. Murdock had turned off the water and was crouched beside him.

"Stop," Face gasped, sobbing openly. "Please don't touch me. Please. Just stop..."

The desperate plea in Face's voice was like a physical blow. Hannibal swallowed hard and took a deep, calming breath.

"Gotta stop the bleeding, Facey," Murdock tried, his voice shaking.

Face let out a cry that was almost a scream as Murdock touched his cheek with the towel in his hand. Already pressed back as far as he could go into the corner, he writhed to get further away, turning his whole body against the wall and clawing as if he could somehow dig out a place to hide.

"Stop! Jesus, please, stop..."

Hannibal stepped forward, inventorying every wound he saw, watching every move Face made. Face was weeping openly, tears streaming from his closed eyes and mingling with the blood, body shaking with the almost-violent sobbing. Fully awake and alert and functioning now, Hannibal's thoughts were systematic. Why was he in the shower? Why not go for the phone? Why not bang on the wall? Hannibal had been right in the next room. Face had been armed. Where the hell was his gun?

They were questions that would have to wait.

Without words, Hannibal set an even, steady hand on Murdock's shoulder. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Murdock would understand. He was here, and he was in command. Murdock moved back. Hannibal took the towel from him as he stepped into the shower stall.

"Call an ambulance and get BA in here."

Murdock was gone in a flash. Hannibal knelt, and kept his voice steady and calm, just to see if the younger man would respond. "Face?"

He didn't respond. It was as if he didn't even hear. Gasping and trembling, he lowered his head, tears and blood mingling on his cheeks as he whispered, barely audible, almost chanting but for the fact that his gasps made him choke on the words.

"Hail Mary... full of grace..."

Hannibal shut his emotions down with a force only seen in times of war, pushing them away where they couldn't be felt. They'd be there later. Right now, he needed to get Face out of here.

"Face. It's going to be okay."

Face put his head back and moaned again, loud and unashamed. "My God!"

It wasn't merely an expletive, or even a cry of pain. It was the sound of desperation, a dying man pleading for mercy.

"Oh, my God!"

As Face lowered his head again, he fell away from the wall. Hannibal caught him, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him upright. "It's okay, Face. I've got you."

For a moment, it wasn't clear if he was even conscious. But his eyes were still open, out of focus, and he was still shaking. Arms curled tight to his chest, he stared blankly at the wall in front of him, numb, dazed, and far away. He was going into shock. Hannibal moved slowly to press the towel to the wound on his cheek, well aware of the warm blood that was staining his clothes.

"You're going to be okay."

He wasn't okay. He'd lost too much blood. He needed the bleeding to be stopped. He needed an IV. Hannibal had no supplies.

Hannibal shifted position slightly, trying to catch the younger man's empty gaze. "Face?"

"Hannibal, I'm here."

The dead tone in BA's voice made Hannibal unsure of just how long he'd been standing there. Long enough to cope with what he was seeing, at least.

"Help me get him to the bed," Hannibal ordered. "We need to get him warm."

*X*X*X*

Frankie was dead. It made BA feel sick to see so much blood. Not that he was afraid of blood. But it was _Frankie's _blood. And what wasn't Frankie's was Face's.

Seeing Frankie dead made something deep inside of BA hurtin a way no human being was supposed to hurt. No chance to say goodbye, no rescue, no way to bring back a member of his own team. It was failure and grief and guilt all rolled up into one. But there was no time to mourn. Not now.

As BA stepped back from the bed, waiting for Hannibal's next order, Face's head lulled to the side. He looked like he was teetering on the edge of consciousness.

"Talk to me, Face," Hannibal prodded. He looked up at BA. "Towels."

"Cruiser..."

BA almost stopped mid-stride on his way to the bathroom. The name hit him like a hot knife. Cruiser? _Cruiser_ had done this?

"I know, Face," Hannibal said quietly. "He's not here. You're safe, I promise you."

Murdock was standing just inside the door, eyes empty as he stared at Face. BA ignored him, grabbing the stack of towels from the bathroom and returning to Hannibal.

"Put the blanket on the register. Get it warm."

BA followed orders. He was good at following orders.

As Face shook, a sound almost like a sob escaped his lips. It ended with a moan, and a slurred, "It hurts..."

"What hurts?" Hannibal asked.

He shook his head, and his eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. "No..."

"What hurts, Face?" Hannibal asked as he pressed on his stomach, over top of a bleeding wound there.

BA had no more orders to follow. He stood by and watched as Face opened his eyes. He tried to focus and, failing that, stared at the wall over Hannibal's shoulder.

"He heard you knock..." His eyes fluttered closed.

Pieces were falling into place. Right and wrong, timing, how far Cruiser could have gotten - none of it was important right now. The only thing that mattered was Face. They would track Cruiser down no matter what dark secluded corner he managed bury himself in. But not right now.

"We here, Face," BA said quietly. He could hear the dark, deadly tone in his own voice. "No one gonna hurt you again."

"You're doing great, kid, just stay with me."

Hannibal looked over his shoulder at Murdock. "Ambulance?"

"On its way," Murdock answered dryly, emotionlessly.

"There's a first aid kit in my bag. Get it."

*X*X*X*

"Face, I need to look at this closer okay?"

Hands on him, turning his head and pulling the towel away from his cheek. Hannibal's voice. "You still with me, kid?"

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

"Murdock, give me that bandage."

Face's eyes open and shut slowly as the gauze came over his cheek. He didn't move, didn't flinch. He was beyond the point of reacting to pain. Pain was the only reality he had to hold onto right now. And he had to hold on. He had to because... Hannibal said he had to.

"Face, look at me."

He shifted his eyes to Hannibal trying to keep them in focus. He couldn't.

"Pray for us sinners now..."

"You've lost a lot of blood, kid. I need you to stay with me. Don't let go. Okay?"

"At the hour of death..."

_"Please..."_

_ With his M-16 still tightly in one hand, Face held onto the dying man with the other. There was no force on earth that would save him, and they both knew it. The lower half of his body was completely gone, and there was no extraction on the way. He didn't even have enough time to make the morphine worth it._

_ "Stay with me," the man gasped, eyes wide and full of fear. "I'm scared."_

_ "It's okay, man," Face whispered, clutching the man's hand tighter. "Just relax."_

_ As the man shut his eyes, Face wondered if he could even feel the pain._

_ "It'll be okay," he promised softly. "Don't be afraid. Just relax and let go."_

"Face!"

Face's eyes opened again. It was surreal. All of it. The pain, the fog, the taste of blood.

"Murdock, come over here."

Eyes closed again. "Face, don't close your eyes."

"Hail Mary..."

Gentle pressure on his ribs. Face flinched and his eyes opened to stare at the wall in front of him as he tried to turn away from Hannibal, tried to curl back into a ball. It was instinctive, and he couldn't have prevented it if he'd wanted to.

"Face, look at me."

His breathing was ragged, eyes shut hard against the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn't even know why. All he knew was that he didn't want those hands on him. He shook his head as he curled up tighter, pulling his arms in close to his chest.

"No..."

Shifting. Moving. He had no strength to fight it. Murdock, kneeling down beside the bed - face to face, only inches apart. "It's okay, Facey," he said softly. "We are going to take care of you."

"Please..."

"It's okay, Face." Moving his hand from the towel that was catching the blood draining from his cheek, Murdock stroked a hand through his hair. "You did the same for me once."

Face shuddered as he closed his eyes, curling up tighter.

"I remember now, Facey. And it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

"Where the hell is that ambulance?"

"You're safe. It's over. Just listen to my voice, okay? You're safe."

Face shuddered, but his breathing evened out a little, slowing. Eyes shut hard, he unclenched his fists slightly, nails no longer digging into his palms. The voices in the room were confusing.

"I want to go home," Face whispered. "Please, just take me home. Please..."

"I know, Face. We'll get you home. Just stay with me, okay? Look at me."

Face opened his eyes and turned his head, locking eyes with Murdock. He didn't speak. Didn't move. He just stared at him silently.

"You gotta stay with us, Face. We're counting on you to stay with us."

Exhaustion. Face couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. "Take me home," he pleaded with the last of his strength as he heard the chaos behind him. People. Strangers. They were here for him, and he knew it. But strangely, he didn't care. Letting his eyes roll back, the last thing he was aware of was the sound of his name, in Murdock's voice.

"Please..."

_Take me home to die..._


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"Mr. Smith?"

Hannibal was out of his seat in an instant. Murdock and BA were right behind him. After almost an hour of talking to the police, of pacing the emergency room of the hospital, of gut-wrenching uncertainty about Face's condition, they had yet to hear anything of substance.

"How is he, doc?" Murdock asked.

The doctor - a young, dark-haired, dark-skinned man with a thick accent, gave a tight, professional smile. "We may have a problem."

Hannibal's heart skipped a beat. "What problem?"

"Your friend," he looked up, meeting Hannibal's stare, "is bleeding internally. We can fix it, but he needs surgery. And he is slipping in and out of consciousness."

"He's been drugged," Hannibal said. "I told you that. He's also lost a lot of blood, which probably isn't helping."

"Yes, I remember. Mr. Smith, I will put this simply." The doctor lowered his head, crossing his arms in front of him. "If your friend was drugged - and I believe you are right; he was - then we cannot anesthetize him. It is that simple."

Hannibal's eyes widened. "Can't anesthetize him? You mean you can't get him into surgery?"

"The man is _dying_!" BA sounded just as horrified.

The doctor nodded, and looked up, glancing back and forth between them. "Until we get a toxicology screening on him and know -"

"That'll take hours!" Murdock cried.

"If the anesthesia we give him reacts with whatever is in his system, it could cause permanent brain damage."

Hannibal stared, dumbfounded, trying to find words. Beside him, Murdock leaned against the wall, hiding his face with his hand.

"So what are we supposed to do until then?" Hannibal asked.

"He is frightened," the doctor said. "He is confused. But he is not feeling pain. We're going to start him on antibiotics immediately and hope -"

"And hope he doesn't die?" Murdock challenged. "He's bleeding internally! Fix him, god damn it!"

The doctor stared at him steadily. "Sir, you are not hearing me. If his state of consciousness has been altered by drugs in his system and we take him into surgery, we could overdose him and he would emerge permanently brain damaged. Frankly, it is not a risk I am willing to take."

Hannibal shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Alright," he said calmly. "So what is the bottom line?"

"Until the toxicology report comes back on your friend, I cannot take him into surgery."

"So until then, what happens?"

"Antibiotics, as I said. We are operating under the assumption that some portion of his intestines have been perforated by the stab wound to his abdomen. That will lead to sepsis if not dealt with. We've patched him up as well as we can for now. We must simply wait for the report to come back."

"Can you give him blood?" Hannibal asked. "To keep him out of shock?"

The doctor hesitated. "It is possible... But then the artery would have to be sewn. Or cauterized. In any case, it may not be in his best interest to -"

"What you want us to do?" BA cried. "Just try and keep him calm?"

"Exactly."

The simple answer stunned them all. Hannibal took a step back, turned, and hid his face in his hands.

"He has been asking for you, Mr. Smith. And he shouldn't be alone right now. If you'd like to see him..."

After a few deep breaths, Hannibal turned back and looked at the doctor. "Is he going to make it?" he asked, point blank. He knew damn well what "shouldn't be alone" meant.

The doctor hesitated again. "It's too early to say with any certainty."

"What's your professional opinion, Doctor?" Hannibal demanded. "Because I need to know how calm I have to keep him."

"He is not in pain. And he will not experience any as long as he is in my care. That is all I can tell you for certain."

Hannibal took another deep breath. "Okay." He put a hand over his eyes, blocking out the world for a few moments to try and get his thoughts back in order. "Let me see him."

"One at a time, please." The doctor smiled tightly. "The room is not large enough for all three of you."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal hesitated at the door. The wounds had been bandaged and wrapped and stitched to try and stop the bleeding. So many bandages. The nurse looked up, forced a tight smile, and exited the room without a sound as Hannibal stepped in and walked to the side of the bed.

"Face?"

Nothing. He was asleep, somewhere far away. Something in Hannibal - that part of him that simply did not want to see the man suffer - wanted him to stay sleeping. But a larger part wanted him to wake the hell up. While he was asleep, it was too easy for him to slip away and be gone forever.

In the absence of a chair, Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed, and found Face's hand beneath the blankets. Bandaged. So damaged and broken, by someone he had considered one of his own. Hannibal shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see it - wouldn't have to feel it. He would've so much rather been the one unconscious and dying than to be the one watching it happen...

_Hannibal's gaze was locked on Bulldog - the way his eyes slid closed, the slight smile that crossed his lips. After so much pain, he was glad to die. He was ready for the bullet. Hannibal swallowed hard, and said a silent good-bye as he watched the young soldier take his last breath._

"Colonel?"

Hannibal's eyes snapped open, and he saw Face watching him. He forced a smile, though he was sure that it was unconvincing. "Hey, Face. How you feeling?"

Stupid question. Stupid fucking question. He never asked stupid questions. What was he thinking?

Face's eyes closed again, and he breathed slow, deep. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"You're going to be okay."

"No, I'm not."

"You are," Hannibal assured him. "They're going to get you into surgery as soon as they can. They'll fix you. You'll be fine."

He had to be. He couldn't die. That was not part of the plan.

"They can't do surgery," Face whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"They can't do surgery until the drugs wear off. They won't wear off in time."

"They told you that?" Why would they tell him that_?_ He wasn't going to die, not here.  
"No..." Another breath, and Face's eyes opened again, staring steadily at Hannibal. "Cruiser did."

Hannibal felt those words like a physical blow to the chest. He'd known. Cruiser was a medic. He'd known exactly what he was doing. But actually hearing it was somehow so much harder. It made it real - made it undeniable. It also made it agonizing, to realize what Cruiser had actually done. It wasn't enough to kill him; he'd wanted him to die slow. And it wasn't enough to leave him for dead, he had wanted no one to be able to help him. Whether they'd found him after five minutes or five hours, it would've made little difference. They could stop the blood spilling from the surface wounds. But they couldn't stop the internal bleeding without surgery. Cruiser knew that. He'd planned, calculated, and executed this act of treason. How could he have even _thought _of such a thing?

"No, it's not quite that complicated, Hannibal."

He looked up and saw a faint smile on Face's lips.

"I can see you trying to figure it out. But it wasn't like that. He didn't have a plan like that. He just... he mentioned it. That even if I got away..."

Hannibal swallowed hard. "Do you know what he gave you?"

"He said. But I don't remember."

Hannibal's jaw tightened. How had he not seen it? He had stood there, face to face with a psychopath, and missed it. He knew people. He knew human nature; it was his ultimate trump card. He knew how they thought, what motivated them, how they would react. It kept him one step ahead of everyone, all the time. But he had looked into the eyes of one of the first men he had put on his team and never even noticed that man had lost every ounce of humanity somewhere along the way.

_"What's the matter, Face? Your new friends hurt your feelings?" _

_ The words were salt in raw and open wounds. Face looked up from where he'd come to rest on the floor of the bamboo cage. "Hannibal!" _

_ Shamelessly exposed, desperate, terrified and unable to defend himself... and in need of defense against his own teammate. The guards imitated him with laughter. With tears and trembling, Face curled in on himself, lying down on the floor of the cell in a fetal position. _

_ "Some friends you've got there," Cruiser said bitterly. "Aren't you glad you're being so fuckin' cooperative?" _

There was cold irony in the fact that Cruiser had survived that camp only to become someone - something - capable of the same sadistic horrors. But this wasn't even the first time Hannibal had seen it. He'd seen it all the way back then. Had he never, in all these years, been willing to accept that maybe, just maybe, the damage that had been inflicted on Cruiser in that hell was irreparable?

"I had to see you," Face whispered, cutting through Hannibal's thoughts. "Had to tell you, before..."

As Face watched him, a sickening realization came over Hannibal. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Men had died in front of him before. His own men, broken and bleeding with that distant, desperate look in their eyes. The same look Face wore right now. Last words. Last rites. That was why Face had been asking for him.

"Don't," Hannibal said firmly.

_You will not die._

"Please," Face breathed. "It's important."

There was emptiness in his eyes, absence of pain and absence of... what? Fear? The drugs subdued him, and the trauma had stripped him of emotion. Hannibal's jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard. But he said nothing as he listened silently.

"This is not your fault."

Hannibal's eyes were suddenly burning. Before he could even stop them, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. Jaw clenched tight, he didn't acknowledge them as he kept his chin resting on his folded hands.

"You didn't know. What he was. This is not your fault."

"You knew," Hannibal whispered back. Those words burned on his lips. "I should've listened to you."

Face's eyes slid closed. "It was a bad call, Hannibal. But in your position, I would've made the same call."

That was a lie - a merciful attempt to ease Hannibal's conscience. Face had already said he wouldn't have made that call, that he was following Hannibal's lead because he trusted him. Hannibal took in a slow, deep breath, and let it out again. It didn't matter now. He wasn't going to argue. Face didn't deserve that. If he said it, Hannibal would take him at his word and deal with the emotions later.

"You need to tell them, too," Face whispered. "It's not their fault. Especially Murdock. He remembers now."

Hannibal blinked in frank shock. "How do you know?"

"I can see it in his eyes. When he was kneeling next to the bed." Face forced himself to look again at Hannibal. "Please don't let him think it's his fault. He will."

"You can tell him yourself, Lieutenant."

"Hannibal, please..."

He trailed off as his eyes slid closed again. A few seconds of silence. He looked up again, and his grip tightened just slightly on Hannibal's hand.

"I love you guys," Face breathed. "You know that, right?"

Hannibal nodded wordlessly. He couldn't speak. Maybe Face deserved to hear it back, to know that he was loved too. But if he didn't know it already...

Hannibal was good with words, but those were words he couldn't say. Not that he couldn't feel them, because he did. He felt them to his core as he sat still, staring at the broken figure he'd watched transform from boy to man. He'd both guided and relied on Face for over twenty years now. The man had earned his trust, respect, and loyalty on every level. He was the perfect XO...

_"Tell me I can count on you, Lieutenant." Huddled on the floor of the cage, Face was still trying to choke back his fear. "Tell me you'll take care of this, and I won't have to think about it again. That I can just count on you to do your part."_

_ A nod. Hannibal watched as that fear receded, underneath the layers he heaped up to protect it, to protect himself._

_ "Tell me what you need to tell me, and the rest I don't want to know. When we get out of here, and it comes time to defend your actions - be it in front of this team, or a military court, or God in heaven - I will back you a hundred and ten percent." _

_ Impossibly young, and impossibly strong, he held Hannibal's gaze, set his teeth together, and nodded again._

_ "I'll have your back, Lieutenant. You have my word."_

_ His eyes were cold now - collected and unfeeling. There was no fear to be found there as he nodded one last time, unflinching. "And you have mine."_

How many times over did Hannibal owe him his life? They all could've died in that camp if Face hadn't been willing to lay it all on the line. Lord knew Hannibal wouldn't have asked him to be a sacrificial lamb if he'd seen any other way. Maybe an opportunity would've presented itself later. But there was no guarantee. And in the end, Face hadn't hesitated to lay himself on the altar.

But that had only been the starting point. None of those missions had proven him the way he'd proven himself when there were no formalities to follow, no rank to respect, and Face had still left behind the life he'd created for himself to follow Hannibal to the one place he didn't want to go: Los Angeles.

_ "Why are we even here?" Face demanded, his tone as vicious as his glare. "The only place I can think of I'd like less is Vietnam."_

_ "Because Murdock is here."_

_ "Murdock is in the psych ward!"_

_ "In LA."_

_ "It's not going to make one bit of difference to him if we're next door or a thousand miles away and you know it!"_

_ "You don't have to stay, Lieutenant."_

_ Face growled audibly, anger boiling over. "Where the hell else am I supposed to go?"_

He was family. He was the closest thing Hannibal had ever had to a son. Hannibal had experienced the wrath of Face's teenage rebellion, the confusion of his early attempts to find himself in the real world, the joy of self-discovery when he finally embraced who he was. Hannibal had watched all of it, and felt it right alongside him. He'd felt it with all of them - Murdock and BA, too - but there was something inside of him that was deeply and intimately connected to Face.

"You know something, kid?"

Face looked at him expectantly, but didn't speak.

"If I didn't go to West Point... I would've been a _lot _like you."

Face smiled softly, and let his eyes slide closed again as he squeezed Hannibal's hand weakly. "Take care of this," he whispered. "Please."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "You have my word."

Face winced as he drew in a breath, and struggled to form words. "Tell Jessica I love her. Tell her I'm sorry. He..."

The words were lost as Face's grip weakened. Hannibal swallowed hard as he felt his eyes burn, his throat tighten. The silence was deafening, eerie. Final. He realized he hadn't drawn a breath in too long, and filled his lungs with a shudder. He had to work to remember how to breathe. Too silent. Too cold. Too broken. As the lieutenant's - his lieutenant's - head turned away from him and came to rest on the blood-stained pillow, Hannibal felt something inside of him break. It shattered.

Emptiness. Hopelessness. Helplessness. Not a damn thing he could do but sit here and watch him die - listen to last requests and offer meaningless comfort. For the first time since he was a child, Hannibal bowed his head and prayed. It was earnest. Deep. Heartfelt. _Not now. Please, God... not yet._

Silence answered him.

Breathe. Hands shaking. Very slowly, he set Face's hand back on the bed and rose to his feet. Steps. They were automatic. It took every ounce of effort he had to walk away. Don't look back. Let the dead bury the dead. The nurse was at the door, and Hannibal didn't look at her as he passed. Into the hallway and to the left. Three doors down and to the bathroom. In through the door. Hands that were his but felt like someone else's locked it behind him.

He turned and put his back to the wall as he broke - sobbing, shaking, hands covering his face to catch the tears that fell like the monsoon rains that had so long soaked him through. _Not now. Please, not yet!_

How could Face live through that, live through everything they had been together, only to die at the hands of one of his own? Cain and Abel. And Hannibal had allowed it. Broken and devastated, he slid to the floor as he sobbed, neither knowing nor caring who heard him.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

The phone was ringing. Jessica rubbed her eyes as she tried to bring the glowing digits on the alarm clock into focus. It was five a.m. Bleary-eyed and still mostly asleep, she nearly dropped the phone on the floor as she tried to answer it. "Mmm'lo?"

"Jessica?"

She frowned, not immediately recognizing the voice. At this hour, it only should have been Face, or maybe the kids if there was an emergency. Confused, she rubbed her face, sitting up a little. "Who is this?"

"It's Hannibal."

Instantly awake, her heart almost stopped as those words hit her ears. Why was Hannibal calling her, and not Face? _Jesus, please God, please let him be alive._

"What happened?"

He didn't answer. In the few long seconds of silence, that fear wound itself tight around her chest, choking her.

"How long will it take you to get to the airport?"

"Tell me he's alive."

He hesitated.

_Hurry up and answer!_ But her fears choked her, prevented her from voicing her impatience. _Dear God, no. If it's bad, I don't want to know yet._

She took a deep breath trying to reign in her thoughts. She had to know. Her whole life was at a standstill as she stared at the wall, waiting for an answer. "Please, Hannibal. Please tell me he's alive."

_Just give me one more moment of my old life back..._

"He's alive."

She breathed out, a deep sigh of relief that almost made her weep. But her moment was joy was cut short. Her eyes opened again. How badly was he hurt? He was hurt; she knew that. And it had to be bad if Hannibal was calling her. The fear was back, tempered only slightly by the knowledge that he was still breathing.

"There's a flight out of LAX that leaves in an hour. I need you on it."

Confused, she ran a hand over her hair, pushing it back as she glanced at the clock. Could she even _get _to LAX in an hour? "I'll be there. Where's it going?"

"To Cairo."

"Cairo?" Her eyes widened. "As in Egypt?"

"Just be on that flight, Jessica. I've talked to a travel agent and your tickets are bought. I'll have someone waiting for you at the airport."

"Wait!" She knew he was about to hang up. But she'd caught him in time. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest as she gripped the phone with white knuckles. "How bad is he?"

Was there a chance it wasn't as bad as she'd first imagined? But if he was okay, why not call himself? And Hannibal's response - "he's alive" - was a long way from "he's perfectly fine." Hannibal wasn't trying to calm or comfort her. There was no reason to deny her that reassurance if he was really okay.

A long pause. When Hannibal finally answered, his voice was low and serious. "I need you here as soon as possible."

She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "I'll be on the plane."

He didn't say goodbye. The only thing she heard was a click, and the phone was dead in her hand.

*X*X*X*

Pain. Lost in a deep, thick darkness, all Face knew was that he needed to find the surface. It was instinctive. He pushed towards it, towards the voices. It was exhausting – one step forward and he fell two steps back. The closer he came, the worse the pain got. Several times, he considered simply giving up, giving in to the darkness. But the instinct to survive was stronger.

Eyes open, out of focus. Unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar people. Blur. Confusion. He felt sick. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes slid closed again.

He woke up heaving, leaning over the side of an unfamiliar bed with a man holding a trash can for him. Scrubs. Middle eastern man. Where was he? Gagging on the last of his stomach's contents, he spit into the can and fell back on the bed again. Pain. Confusion. He shut his eyes again and went back to the darkness.

Someone was talking to him. He answered. Tell them what they want to hear... Or was he just dreaming?

Silence. This time, he made no effort to find his way through the darkness. He woke up slowly, aware of the pain before anything else. He groaned as he turned his head towards the cool pillow. God, he didn't want to be awake.

"Face?"

Murdock. He recognized the voice immediately. But he couldn't think. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain.

"It hurts..."

He winced as he tried to move, just enough to change the pressure points. He would've probably screamed if he'd had the breath. Instead, he only gasped.

"Just stay still, Facey."

"God, it hurts..."

Confusion. Darkness. The pain ebbed and faded as he slipped away again. Was he asleep again? Or was the woman in front of him really real?

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain you have ever experienced," unfamiliar voice, thick accent, "how would you rate your pain?"

Pain. The pain in his gut and the haze of drugs in his head would've panicked him if he'd had the energy. His mind screamed ten. His mouth said six.

"That's a ten, nurse." Hannibal.

"I'm afraid I have to take his word for it over yours."

"Face, say ten."

Face forced his eyes open. Dark-skinned man in scrubs. His eyes rolled back again. "Ten."

"Give him the goddamn morphine."

Blackness.

Falling. Face breathed, looked for something to grab onto, found nothing. Pressure points hurt. He hadn't moved in so long... He tried, gave up, breathed hard, exhausted.

"What you tryin' to do?"

He opened his eyes weakly and saw BA beside him. "Sit up," he slurred.

"Here."

The bed moved beneath him, raising his shoulders. BA held out an arm in front of him, giving him something to grab onto as he pulled himself up a little. The effort ended in a sob of pain, and Face shuddered as he closed his eyes hard.

Dizzy. The warm, comforting blackness enveloped him again.

When he opened his eyes again, the pain was less. He was more alert, too. Alert enough to realize that he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant." Hannibal's voice was calm and quiet, but filled with concern.

Face breathed deep. His head was still fuzzy, but he managed to open and focus his eyes, just briefly. Things were clearer now. He knew he was awake. It was the first hint of clarity he'd had in a very long time.

"How's the pain now?"

"Bearable." His throat was dry.

"You know, when somebody asks you how the pain is compared to other experiences, they don't expect you've lived through a POW camp."

He closed his eyes again. "Where am I?" The question was instinctive, an attempt to gain more of an understanding about his surroundings.

"You're at the hospital."

"How long have I been here?"

"We found you yesterday morning about nine o'clock. Got you to the hospital an hour later. They couldn't get you into surgery right away. Do you remember?"

"Surgery?" He didn't remember. Brief flashes of conversations that may as well have been in a foreign language were all he retained from the past twenty-four hours.

"You were bleeding internally. They were able to stop it."

Face shut his eyes hard. "Oh, God."

"You'll be okay, Face. Here."

Something cold, hard, and wet against his lips. He took it, if for no other reason than because it was Hannibal giving it to him. Ice. He suddenly remembered how dry his mouth was.

"Do you remember what happened?"

_Blood. It was on his back, his face, his neck, his mouth. Flowing. Agonizing. Eyes out of focus, his hands shook as they clawed the carpet. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe._

_ "What are you going do, Cruiser? Kill me?"_

Face swallowed hard and forced his eyes open, staring at Hannibal. "Where's Cruiser?"

"We're not sure. He was long gone by the time we found you."

Face's eyes slid closed again. "What about... Where's everyone else?"

Hannibal paused for a long moment. "BA and Murdock went to get something to eat about an hour ago. They should be back shortly."

"Frankie?"

No answer. Face looked up slowly and had his answer from the look in Hannibal's eyes.

"I thought maybe I'd dreamed that," Face said weakly.

"The police still want to talk to you. So far I've told them they're going to have to wait."

"Fuck the police. They're not gonna catch him."

"They're just doing their job, Face. But they can wait until you're ready."

Face spent a moment trying to figure out everything he could about his current surroundings, his injuries, his situation in general. He was attached to tubes and monitors and bandaged over all the cuts from Cruiser's knife. They were deep, if he remembered correctly. One stab wound in his abdomen. And then there was the bandage on his face...

"How long do I have to stay here?" he whispered.

"You'll be here a while."

"I want to go home."

"We're not moving you until you've had a chance to recover for a few days at least. Then we'll see about transferring you to a hospital stateside."

"Hospital?" The drugs were making it so hard to think...

"Some of your injuries are pretty serious, Face."

"How serious?"

Hannibal hesitated. "Serious enough to keep you here for a while. But the worst of it is over. You're not going to die."

Trying to figure out what Hannibal was referring to required a conscious awareness of what, exactly, had happened in that room. And as the memories slowly came back, Face felt the air leave his lungs. He shut his eyes hard against the deep feelings of shame and humiliation, wishing for the darkness again. But this time, it didn't come.

"Oh, God..." Face felt his heartbeat quicken. He could feel every beat of his pulse. "Cruiser..."

_The torn shirt tasted like blood. Everything tasted like blood. He'd never get that taste out of his mouth. Gagging, struggling for air, he tried to turn his head away. The heavy hand moved with him, shoving the blood-soaked T-shirt further into his mouth. _

_ "Tried to warn you, Face. Tried to tell you to keep your fucking mouth shut."_

_ Whatever it was in Cruiser's other hand, whatever he'd traded the knife for, was not sharp. But Face could nevertheless feel it piercing his insides. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, Face let out an involuntary scream._

"Relax, Face."

He couldn't relax. He couldn't breathe. Hands shaking, he tried to sit up, ignoring the pain. Couldn't get air. Couldn't think. Images in his head. He felt the pain everywhere.  
"Can't breathe! I can't breathe!"

_"Do you know how long it takes a person to bleed out if you cut through a major artery?" _

_ Face lay still, gasping, shaking. Bleeding..._

_ "Do you know how long it takes if you _don't_?"_

"Breathe, Face." Calm voice. Hannibal's hand was on his shoulder as he leaned forward. The pain was back; he couldn't sit up like this and not feel it. But he couldn't breathe. And the pain just made the terror that much more real.

"I can't!"

"Face." So calm. Quiet. Beeping, screaming monitors. Shaking. Bleeding. Pain. "Breathe in through your nose."

"I can't!"

"You can," Hannibal said softly. His other hand went to Face's chest, but didn't push. "I wouldn't tell you to do anything that you couldn't do. Just trust me."

Strangers. Chaos. Someone tried to take his arm. Muscles rigid, he turned into Hannibal. Safer there. _Don't touch me!_

He couldn't breathe.

Hannibal's voice – firm orders, not to him. Softer, quieter. "Breathe through your nose, Face."

Face pressed his lips together hard. Shaking, terrified, he tried to breathe as the images, memories, emotions, blurred and then receded. Back into the darkness, far away from him. Better that way. Better that they were far away.

Breathe. Slow.

"That's it. Just breathe, kid."

The beeping stopped. The pain made him dizzy. The blur in his mind turned to a blank haze. Silence there. Nothingness. Hannibal guided him back again.

The strangers left. The silence was welcoming. He closed his eyes, and slowly let his mind drift to unconsciousness and back – never fully asleep, never fully awake. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at the ceiling for a long time. He wanted to curl into a ball and die.

"You alright?" Soft voice. Comforting. How long since he'd heard that tone from Hannibal? "Just relax, kid."

"Kid," Face repeated, blankly. "You haven't called me that in years."

Hannibal had a hand on his arm, over the tube that was running up to the IV. "Rest," he ordered quietly.

Face closed his eyes again. He was so tired, he could barely think. "You gotta find him, Hannibal."

"Don't worry, I'll find him." That cold, deadly tone in Hannibal's voice was unmistakable. "But right now, my first concern is you."

Face wanted to speak. He wanted to tell Hannibal he'd be fine, whether or not he believed it himself. But the last little bit of his strength was draining in the effort of continuing to breathe. He barely managed to whisper the colonel's name before his eyes slid shut again. As he slipped away into blackness, he felt Hannibal's hand close over his.

"Just rest, Face. You'll be alright."

***X*X*X***

Letting the police talk to Face was a bad idea none of them had any way of anticipating. They'd known it wouldn't go well. They hadn't expected Face to shut down quite so hard. He'd stopped responding, stopped speaking, and that glossed, empty look didn't leave his eyes. Hannibal had seen that look before, in the eyes of another one of his men. The doctors at the VA had called it a psychotic break, a schizophrenic episode, a manic break, or simply acute post-traumatic stress disorder. Whatever name they gave it, it meant primarily one thing: Face was gone, deep inside of his head where he felt nothing. He might not even remember any of this when he finally started coming out of it. If he came out of it. His brain had had enough, and it was resetting.

In the meantime, the team had problems. Big problems. The first, of course, was how to cope with Face's reset period. Murdock, not unexpectedly, kept a constant vigil. It was a good thing for Face; he was never alone, not even for a minute. It was not such a good thing for Murdock. There was no telling what was going on in his head, and any attempt to get him to talk made him just as shut down as Face, though in a very different way. The dark look that came over his eyes - the anger - was something none of them walked to drag out into the open. Not now. Not when they were already so vulnerable.

Hannibal couldn't risk losing Murdock into that darkness.

Any time an unfamiliar person would enter the room – try to take vitals, or blood, or dress wounds, or even to talk to Face - there was the warning flinch first. If it wasn't heeded, he went from catatonic to violent in two-point-six seconds. The hospital staff had figured out pretty quickly that this wasn't the best way of going about a treatment plan. He had no such reaction to members of the team, but hospital protocol wouldn't allow for Hannibal to administer any kind of care. Ultimately, the charge nurse had informed Hannibal that she would be restraining her patient - a notion Murdock had reacted especially strong towards - and Hannibal had answered that he would sooner pull Face's IV and catheter himself and simply wheel him out of the hospital. He was met with disbelieving laughter - entirely unwise on the part of the nurse.

Two days after surgery, Face signed the necessary papers to check himself out of the hospital against medical advice. It wasn't too hard to raid the hospital pharmacy for morphine and the nurses' cart for supplies to continue caring for him. He went wordlessly, probably not even comprehending, to a motel - first floor, easy escape - on the outskirts of the city. Then Murdock had continued on in the cab to the airport, where Jessica would finally be arriving after missing her flight and having to catch the next.

But their problems weren't over. Cruiser - and what the hell else he might be planning - weighed heavily on their minds. They had no specific reason to think he was planning anything at all. In fact, it was likely that he would find a place to hide now. He would know to expect retaliation for this; he wasn't stupid. But if Face was right, and Cruiser had intended to kill him, there was the remote chance that he would try again. In any case, determining where and how they would find Cruiser – and what they would do to him when they did – was in everyone's thoughts.

Then there was Stockwell – a lower priority, but still a factor. They hadn't heard from him, and could therefore assume that at this very moment, he didn't know where they were. He'd find out soon enough. And if experience was any indication, he would not be deterred in the least by Face's condition; their mission would continue.

Hannibal had a few choice words for him, too.

He couldn't think about that now – not with Face hanging in the balance. Aside from his fragile mental state, his physical injuries were extensive. Not so extensive that they _needed _the hospital. It would've been easier, but as long as they had the necessary supplies, the surgery itself was the only thing Hannibal _couldn't_ do, under any circumstances. But his insides were all still _inside_ – a tremendous victory in and of itself. He was alive. He was expected, in time, to make a full recovery.

The scars, of course, would never fully heal. His arms, legs, back, and chest they were all badly cut up. More than any of that, it was the huge, gaping wound on the side of his face that Hannibal knew would haunt him. If Cruiser had expected to kill him, he had certainly gone the extra mile to make sure that even if he failed in that, Face would never be himself again.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Jessica stepped through the gate, wide eyes immediately scanning for anything familiar. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she looked like hell. And she didn't care. "Long flight, isn't it?"

Her eyes locked on him immediately. Her breath caught, her mouth suddenly so dry she had trouble speaking. "Murdock?"

The forced smile was not comforting. "Hi, Jessica."

It was all she could do to keep from grabbing the man in front of her. "Where is Face?"

Murdock opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The look on his face, the expression, the pain in his eyes, it made her heart stop. Her knees locked as she fought to stay upright while her world turned upside down.

"Just tell me he's still alive," she pleaded.

Murdock licked his lips, and nodded. "He's alive. He'll be okay."

Her eyes slid closed and she leaned on the wall for support, momentarily dizzy. She had never heard more beautiful words. "Oh, thank God."

"I'm going to take you to him."

She had to focus on small pieces. There were too many emotions and chaotic thoughts in her head. She needed to break them down into small pieces. She needed to get to Face.

"How badly hurt is he?"

There was a mixture of hope and anguish in her voice and her thoughts. Hope that maybe she had read the situation wrong, anguish at the thought of him hurt at all. And everything in all regards was filled with confusion. How had he _gotten _hurt?

"Well, it could've been a lot worse." Murdock raised one hand to rub the back of his neck. "But it's still bad."

She stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you being purposely vague?"

The tone was harsher than she had intended, but this was too much. Anger, warm and comforting, was curling around the edges of her feelings. She had damn well earned the right to know what was going on.

Besides, anger was easier than fear.

He sighed as he turned back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked her head in the eye. "We wouldn't have brought you all the way to Egypt if it wasn't bad."

The pain radiated in his words. It was so real, so palpable, that she almost gasped. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the raw pain and truth in his eyes wasn't it. She would never understand their bond, but it was deep and strong and as real as anything. She trusted it, by default. Face was hurt. Badly. Murdock would not tell her why. It didn't matter. Face needed her and that was what mattered. It was _all_ that mattered.

"Okay," she said quietly, holding his hand tighter and taking a deep breath. "Take me to him."

*X*X*X*

The car ride had been tense and silent; there was nothing left to say. With just a couple words, Murdock knew he'd turned her world upside down. He was so damn tired, but there was no chance of sleep. There would be no controlling his thoughts then. And he had to control them. The flashes were coming now every time he looked at Face, every time he thought about him.

_"Parker's baby brother is moving up in the world." _

No. No! He couldn't do that now. He couldn't think about the past. Face needed him. If he thought about that, he would retreat, hide, and dissolve. He would have to disappear just like Face was trying to do. He couldn't do that. He'd be there for Face this time. Face deserved that from him.

Even as he opened the door for Jessica, he had only one thought: get her to Face because she can help. As they stopped to wait for the cars to pass so they could cross the street, she shifted nervously. "Murdock, where are we going?"

There was fear in her voice. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded in the reassuring part. "It's a little bit of a walk. Just in case we're being followed."

Jessica didn't ask again.

By the time they reached the door Jessica had pushed her fear down, underneath a mask of calm. Murdock gave a small smile in admiration at her strength. With a sudden sharp pain that hit him out of nowhere, he realized how badly he missed Bev. He hadn't even said a proper goodbye to her, just called her to let her know he'd be gone for a while. What he wouldn't give just to hear her voice...

He closed his eyes and let the longing wash over him for a second before he opened them again and looked at Jessica, who was now looking at him. With a sad smile and a slight nod to her, he stepped out in front and reached into his pocket for the key to the door.

_"Aw, relax, flyboy. You're gonna love this game."_

Damn it, no!

He could deal with that later - all the memories simmering just beneath the surface. Once he knew Face was okay, he could figure out how to deal with them. And how to find Cruiser and kill him. Until then, he had only one concern. And that concern was for Face.

*X*X*X*

In nursing school, Jessica had been taught to put all of her feelings in a box and leave it at the door. When she'd finished her job, then she could pick up the box and deal with what was inside. That training had served her well in Vietnam, patching and piecing together the bloodied and broken bodies of boys no older than she was. She tried to remember that - eyes closed, breathing in deep through her nose - as Murdock unlocked the door. Unfortunately, she was at a loss in that she didn't even know what was wrong, let alone how she was supposed to help.

She opened her eyes, feeling her surface layer of calm veneer slide into place. Murdock was beside her, his own mask in place. "You ready?"

She felt like she was about to make a body identification. Quietly, she nodded. Whatever it was, she could do this. Murdock opened the door slowly.

Hannibal was half-asleep, upright in a chair in the corner. He jolted awake as Murdock poked his head inside. "Colonel? It's me."

Hannibal relaxed again, and Murdock pushed the door open a little further.

"I found her."

His voice was calm and unnaturally flat. As he stepped inside, Jessica entered right behind. She gave a quick glance in Hannibal's direction before her eyes suddenly found Face. She straightened noticeably. Bloodied and broken - that much she had expected. But curled into a ball like a beaten dog? The men in this room were some of the toughest she'd ever met, and all of them looked like they were ghosts of themselves.

She took a breath. Calm. Controlled. She could do this.

"What happened?" she asked, turning to Hannibal.

Face stirred at the sound of her voice. Hannibal avoided her gaze. Nobody said a word. As she looked from Hannibal to Murdock and back again, neither of them would look her in the eye. The hesitation frustrated the hell out of her.

"Can _anyone _tell me what the hell is going on here?" she demanded. Sometimes, in order to be heard, she had to raise her voice. This seemed to be one of those times.

"Face told me he'd called you," Hannibal continued quietly. "And that you know about Cruiser."

She swallowed hard as her eyes drifted back to Face, and the truth she hadn't wanted to know slowly set it. She should have kept her mouth shut, never told him about Cruiser's sister. Maybe then he wouldn't be here right now.

She couldn't think about that. Guilt had no place here. It belonged in the box at the door.

Murdock hung back. "Where's BA?"

"He went back to the hotel to get our things."

Murdock nodded, wordlessly.

"We have the room next door, too." Hannibal gestured to the open door that joined the two. "You should get some sleep, Captain."

"I'd rather not."

"I know. But you do need sleep."

They exchanged glances. The worried look on Murdock's face said more than words.

"Go on," Hannibal ordered gently. "If anything happens, I'll call you."

Reluctantly, Murdock cast one more look at the silent figure on the bed, then back toward the door. He closed it behind him on his way out.

Jessica watched him go, then turned to stare again at Face. He had his back to her, curled into a ball beneath the blankets. She took a deep, calming breath, pushing her shoulders back, and a made her first step towards the bed.

"Face?"

_Calm and caring. Just let him hear your voice..._

"He may be asleep." Hannibal's voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she turned to look at him. "He's on some pretty heavy duty painkillers."

"What is he on?"

"Two milligrams of morphine every four hours. We've got enough to keep that dosage for the next ten days. Hopefully, he won't need it that long. He's on antibiotics too."

"For anything in particular?"

"Perforated intestine. They sewed it up without a problem. But sepsis..."

She nodded slowly. She was an orthopedic surgeon. She knew about sepsis.

She took a step closer, setting her purse on the bedside table. He looked so small and alone, so far away. She needed to touch him. He loved to be touched. He reminded her of a spoiled cat in that respect, craving human contact and touch. And she loved touching him; it was one of many reasons they got on so well. The sight of him lying there like that made her hands burn for him.

He jumped, startled, as she reached out and caressed his hair.

"Careful," Hannibal warned quietly.

Jessica turned and stared at him, startled by the seriousness in his tone. "Careful of what?" What did he think Face was capable of?

Hannibal watched her carefully. "He's traumatized, Jess. And he hasn't wanted anyone touching him. I don't think he'd hurt you intentionally. But he might not recognize you if he's just waking up."

She left her hand in his hair, but hesitated to move it any further. With a slow, steady breath, she looked back down at him. "Face..."

She was afraid when she went to touch him he might disappear, or her fingers would somehow slip through him like he was a ghost. When they didn't, she ran them down, carefully, hesitantly, to his cheek – around the bandage that covered the whole side of his face - his jaw, his neck. Then her hand moved back up to his hair, stroking gently.

She whispered his name again. No response. "Face, can you hear me?"

No answer. But very gradually, she could see him relaxing.

"Easy, baby. It's okay."

Somewhere inside of her, there was a reserve of patience she hadn't even been aware of. She knew in that moment that she could stay there and talk softly while rubbing his hair all night long if there was even a slight chance it would help.

"It's okay, Face."

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment with an empty stare. His jaw worked, but there was no sound. He shut his eyes again without a response.

"It's okay."

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding as her other hand slowly, carefully brushed his hair back from his forehead. The whole left side of his face was bandaged, and her stomach turned at the thought of what might be beneath the gauze. Not that it would matter to her; he was gorgeous no matter what marks had been inflicted on him. But if Cruiser was responsible for this, it made sense that he'd hurt Face in a way that he knew would count, and forever be a reminder. Cruiser was just that sadistic...

There were so many things she needed to say to him, to tell him, to ask, to find out. And none of it mattered. "I love you," she whispered, afraid to speak too loudly.

That blank, empty look didn't leave his eyes. But he turned his head slightly into her hand, the faintest acknowledgment. It was all she needed to know he'd heard her. Very slowly, he moved his hand to hers, resting his fingers on the back of her wrist, careful not to pull on his IV. He turned his head as he held her hand weakly, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Tears burned her eyes. She didn't know what had happened, but it only took one good look at him to know that it had been brutal. And yet he was the one who was comforting her. He had no idea just how selfless and good he really was.

There was a terrifying second, with his fingers on her hand and his lips on her wrist, when she felt, way down deep inside, just how much she needed him. She needed him in order to even think about functioning. Those few moments of terror when she'd heard Hannibal's voice, while she'd waited for the blow, were still so fresh in her mind they made her want to break down and sob. But he was here. He was alive, if broken. He would make it through.

"You're going to be okay." She wasn't sure if that was a question or a statement.

He nuzzled against her hand once more, and turned his head into the pillow. He was drugged; she could see it in his eyes as they rolled back. "Lay with me, Jessie," he whispered weakly. "I want to go see the ocean."

For a moment, she couldn't breathe.

She could tell it took every ounce of energy he had to move back, giving her room. She felt the tears escape and start to flow down her cheeks as she lifted the blanket and slipped into the bed beside him. There was no need to think. Being next to him, lying next to him, was natural and right and real. She needed to be real. She was careful not to disturb his IV as she pressed in close to him and pulled his arm around her. As she settled on her side, carefully finding a non-injured place to rest her hand and head, she took a deep inhale. Under the surgical smell, under the scent of blood and medicine, it was there. Sandalwood and him. She let the tears come, not trying to hold them back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hannibal rise to his feet. He took a few steps closer, then pulled the blanket across her, effectively tucking them in. She looked up at him gratefully.

"If you need anything - anything at all - call any one of us. There'll always be someone here."

She felt the rise and fall of Face's chest, and he nuzzled into the pillow, eyes half open. He was conscious again, if barely. "You smell good," he whispered weakly.

She kissed his forehead, feeling the familiar lines of his body pressed against hers. Everywhere they touched connected; it tingled, like a when circulation was restored to a limb. Eyes tightly shut, she concentrated on what it felt like, what he felt like. What they felt like. For a moment she wasn't sure there was a him and her, there was just them. Why did "them" feel so much better and safer than her? Why didn't that scare her?

"Stay with me Jess," he pleaded softly. "I'm scared without you."

Her world cut to the core, she didn't just understand those words, she felt them. There was nowhere else that was safe, no where else that was real. When she spoke it was a soft whisper, but there was nothing soft about the determination in her voice.

"I'm not leaving you."

She felt his arm tighten around her just slightly, then listened to his breathing as it deepened again, and he slowly drifted away.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**PART TWO**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Face had been in and out of consciousness for what might have been days or weeks – he wasn't sure. The only thing he was continually aware of, and knew for certain, was that every time he opened his eyes, Jessica was there. Sometimes, he knew it was her. Other times, he only knew afterwards. She was a nurse - a doctor now, but still a nurse in that subconscious part of him that recognized her instinctively. She had cared for men more broken than he was with far fewer supplies. And she'd done it in a war zone.

IV bags and vitals every few hours. He opened his eyes and it was daylight. Opened them the next time and it was night. Hannibal was there, then BA, then Murdock. The painkillers kept him in a fog - morphine drip and drugs for nausea. They made him dizzy. But most of all, they made him sleep. Only vaguely aware of who and where he was, his thoughts didn't extend much further. They couldn't. Any effort at movement made him exhausted, and he'd slip away again.

Awake, but far from alert, he let his eyes open lazily to stare at the wall in front of him. The bandages on his back itched, the IV in his hand was sore. The dull pain in his abdomen was just enough to make him not want to move, not so much that he was wishing he were still unconscious. It was light outside.

"How are you feeling?"

He blinked a few times, trying to find some clarity. For the first time in what felt like forever, he realized he had the strength and clarity to look around him, at his surroundings. A generic motel room.

"How did I get here?"

The last thing he remembered with any clarity was talking to Hannibal in a hospital room, fighting the pain.

"I don't know. You were here when I arrived."

Jessica was sitting on the foot of the bed. He looked at her briefly, then shut his eyes again. "How long has it been?"

"Two days."

"Where's Hannibal?"

"They're all outside. They're going a little stir crazy. You want me to get him?"

"No, it's okay."

She moved closer, kneeling down beside the bed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. "How's the pain?"

"It's okay." Actually, the fact that he could feel a little pain was welcome. It meant he was still able to feel.

"We lowered your morphine a little."

"Yeah, I can tell." He wasn't complaining. He wanted to feel. Even pain was better than that drugged haze at this point.

"You need to get up and walk as soon as you can," she whispered, her hand smoothing over his hair. "It'll help you heal faster. And you don't want your muscles to atrophy."

He nodded again. The more and more coherent his mind became, the more he realized how much he _wanted _to move. He felt cramped and confined. And hungry. And dirty.

"I want to take a shower."

Just like that, she made it happen. She locked off the IV, leaving the port in his hand, pulled the catheter, and began removing bandages. "No sense in waiting until they're sopping wet to remove them," she said quietly as she very carefully pulled the tape from the side of his face. He could feel the stitches pull, and he winced. Not in pain, but in the sudden realization of how large that wound really was. He could feel those stitches from cheekbone to chin.

Jessica had no visible reaction to the sight of it.

Murdock stepped back into the room, from outside, just as she was pulling the last of the gauze patches from his chest.

"How you feelin', Faceman?" His voice, soft and concerned, lacked all of its usual banter.

"I've been better."

"You're back with us in the land of the living. That's a good start." He turned his attention briefly to Jessica. "Need help?"

"Yeah. Put that chair in the shower, will you? And get the water warm."

It was more effort than Face had thought it would be to put his legs over the side of the bed. The pain was by far secondary to the exhaustion, and he shut his eyes as he swooned.

"Maybe I don't want to do this."

Jess was facing him, holding him steady. "I promise you'll feel better once you're done," she assured him. "Just wait until the dizziness passes then slide forward. I've got you."

Face took a few seconds to catch his breath, to focus on how good it would feel to be clean and lie back down in a bed that was clean. "Will you... change these sheets?"

"Of course."

He opened his eyes again and looked from her to Murdock, who was standing near the door to the bathroom.

"As soon as you're ready, Face." That soft, sure voice brought his attention back to Jessica. "I know you want to hold your breath, but breathe out when you stand up or when you move forward."

How did she know that? He didn't even know that. But she was right. It was natural to hold his breath. He breathed out as he shut his eyes again, tried to find his strength, and instead found the determination to simply do what needed to be done. He took as deep a breath as he could before the pain stopped him. Then he opened his eyes and moved forward.

He'd expected that when he stood, he'd be unsteady. He hadn't expected that his legs would be completely unable to take his weight. Startled by how unsteady he was, he fell into Jessica and reached instinctively towards Murdock for support. Murdock was there instantly, taking his weight holding him steady. Face ended up leaning into his chest, breathing hard with effort and adrenaline and panic that almost drowned out the pain. His legs didn't work!

"Why can't I stand up?"

"Because you've been laying down for a long time," Jessica said calmly.

"I can't feel my legs!"

"You can't _feel _them or you can't _use_ them?"

He calmed the panic in his mind by moving his toes against the carpet. He could feel it.

"It's okay, Face," Jess whispered. "It's expected. Just take your time. Lean on us."

He took a few moments to slowly shift his weight back onto his own shaky legs. It was agonizingly slow and tremendously difficult. He leaned on Murdock rather than Jessica - it was just instinctive - as he took his first slow steps. By the time he made it to the bathroom, he was breathless and lightheaded.

"Oh my God, I need to sit down."

"There's a chair right here."

Jess and Murdock helped him into the tub and onto the dirty fabric chair that was now soaking wet in the shower spray. He had never seen anything quite as welcoming as that ugly thing.

"That's it, lean on us while you sit down."

There were tears streaming down his face as he settled, the water just hitting his knees. Jessica pushed a hand through his hair, cradling him. "You okay, baby? Is it the pain?"

No, it wasn't the pain. He shook his head. The pain was minimal compared to everything else he was feeling. Helplessness and frustration and terror and humiliation. His legs didn't work. He was damn near ready to pass out from walking ten feet from the bed to the shower. His girlfriend and his best friend were holding him up – about to wash him because he couldn't do it for himself.

Jesus, what would they even see on him when they went to clean it all away? He hadn't showered since...

"Shh, it's okay, baby." Jessica kissed his forehead lightly. "You'll feel so much better once you get cleaned up. Come on, let's get you out of this gown."

"Wait!"

Jessica's hands – and Murdock's – froze where they were. Face closed his eyes, not sure for a moment why he'd stopped them or where the sudden burst of energy to do so had come from. The wave of panic – why was there panic? – came and went, and he breathed out slow.

"Okay. I'm okay."

The process was slow and excruciating. It reinforced all of those feelings of complete helplessness, but after only a few moments, he was too tired to really care. He was only half-aware of the warm water, and Jessica's hands on him, touching him everywhere. His fear eased away slowly with her touch, and the sound of her voice, humming softly.

His mind was wandering in the still-drugged nothingness, in and out of clarity. He made no attempt to speak, and was only spoken to in brief instructions which he followed without thought. By the time they helped him back to the bed, he was more tired than he ever remembered being in his life. The bandages would need to be reapplied. He needed clothes. He wasn't going to be awake that long, and he didn't really care about any of it.

As he settled back against the fresh pillows, he kept a weak grip on Jessica's hand. "Thank you."

Jessica's other hand closed gently over the top of his. "You're welcome, Face," she whispered. She brushed the wet hair out of his eyes and place a soft, chaste kiss on his forehead. "Go ahead and sleep. I'm just going to replace the bandage for the wound on your stomach. The rest look like they should be okay."

Face's eyes slid closed and he forced them open again. Murdock was standing beside him, still, his eyes black and unreadable. With every ounce of strength he could manage, Face reached toward him with the hand that had the IV port in it.

"Murdock."

He met him halfway, holding out a hand to clasp his. "Right here, Face."

"I know." He breathed out slowly, feeling the exhaustion overtaking him. "Thank you."

Face surrendered the battle to sleep, letting his eyes shut again. The last thing he heard was Murdock's voice, soft and reassuring in the darkness. "It's okay, Face. I owe you."

*X*X*X*

At the party store across the street, Murdock had bought a bottle of vodka and a pack of cigarettes. He hadn't bought either in almost two decades. Sure, he'd had a drink or two here and there. He'd even bought a pack of Marlboros a couple years ago. (He'd never lit any of them; he just needed them for props.) But it had been a hell of a long time since he'd walked into a store and bought a bottle and a soft pack with the full intent of consuming both in their entirety.

Sitting on the curb in front of the motel room door, next to a perfectly silent BA, Murdock lit the first cigarette. He didn't say a word; there was nothing to say. He simply finished his cigarette, then opened the bottle and took more than a single shot of vodka. Without looking at BA, he offered the bottle to him. But BA didn't take it. Murdock capped it as he put it back in his pocket.

It was several long minutes before the cab pulled up in front of them. Hannibal stepped out. Murdock kept his eyes down as he lit another cigarette.

"How is he?" Hannibal asked pointedly, setting down the bag of groceries on the ground beside them.

He was clearly in no great hurry to go inside - into that dark room so full of pain and suffering - and look for himself. They all wanted to be close to Face. But none of them wanted to stand by and watch him suffer. Murdock glanced up briefly as he took another drag.

"Jess cut back his morphine a little to try and get him to wake up some," Murdock reported.

"How's he doing with it?"

"Good. He got up and took a shower."

"That's a big step in the right direction."

The past few days had felt like a life time. Morphine, dressings, blood, and wounds; a world away but so much like Vietnam. Lowering his eyes to the ground again, Murdock took another deep drag. Almost twenty years since he'd smoked. But the calming, heady buzz of lungs full of smoke and nicotine was still there.

"When are we going to go after Cruiser?"

There. He'd said it. He'd asked the question they all wanted to know the answer to. But nobody wanted to speak his name. Nobody even wanted to think about the fact that this really wasn't over yet. Even if - when - Face made a full recovery, it wasn't over. They still had unfinished business with the man who'd _done _this to him.

"I'm not willing to leave Face unguarded right now," Hannibal said firmly. "If there's even a possibility that Face is in danger, I'm not about to put him on the line for a chance to get Cruiser. Cruiser can wait."

Murdock's jaw worked a few times. It was an acceptable answer. But it did little to help the gnawing hole he felt in the center of his chest. Seeing Face like that, knowing who did it, what had happened...

The flashes and images were like faded photographs that kept sliding into his reality. No context, just images and gut clenching feelings.

_"Can you walk? Let's get you someplace safe. Okay?" _

He pulled the bottle from his pocket again and took another drink as he fought back the panic and shame that rolled in with that thought. He didn't know why. He wasn't even sure _where _he'd heard that voice. The only thing he was sure of was that it was Face's voice. Face's concerned look as he watched him, waiting for an answer...

"You need some sleep, Hannibal," BA said roughly.

Under different circumstances, Murdock would have been amused by the fact that BA had just ordered their colonel to sleep. Glancing at him, Murdock expected to find that pure anger that the big man was so good at. But that wasn't there. Instead, there was a cold, calculated distance in those eyes that was much more frightening than the fury. If Murdock had been capable of feeling, that look would have had him stepping back in genuine fear.

"I'm fine."

"You ain't fine. You ain't slept in two days. And if you mean what you say, that we ain't goin' nowhere 'til Face is better, you got lots of time to sleep."

Hannibal looked away, reaching into his pocket for the half-finished cigar there. "Once he's well enough, we should move him," he muttered, seemingly to himself. "I don't think Cruiser would be stupid enough to try anything, but I'd rather that he didn't know where to find Face. And Stockwell, too."

Murdock let his eyes move to Hannibal. "We have to take Frankie's body back home."

"Yes, I'm well aware. And as soon as we do, Stockwell's going to know everything that's happened so far."

There was something about the way he was talking - the exhausted, weary air about him – that was alien, out of place. Hannibal was at his best when things were at their worst. But right now, his voice was tired. The way he spoke, he sounded like he was only relaying fragmented thoughts. It was unlike him. He never spoke until he had a plan. But there was no plan to those words.

_"Why did he go after Cruiser, Murdock?" Hannibal glanced at him, and was quiet for a long time. "Please tell me that this didn't all start in my own goddamn team."_

Damn it. That photograph didn't even seem to fit with the others. But the longer he sat here, thinking and remembering, the clearer and clearer those photographs became. And the more sense they made as they strung together in his head.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"Face, you're bleeding."

He was aware of that. He could feel it. He'd been able to feel it for a few hours now, and the pain that went with it. Lower doses of morphine, more walking and movement, starting to eat again - they were all good signs. He was able to walk on his own power, though with help. He could make it back and forth to the bathroom. He was dressed. He didn't need the IV anymore. Everything looked good, from afar. But every step on the road to recovery had dangers associated with it.

This particular bleeding was one of them.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, eyes shut hard.

"You're not fine, baby. You're bleeding."

The more consciousness and clarity he gained, the more memories returned. And the more he tried not to remember them. He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it. But she wasn't going to let it go.

"Please, Jess." He opened his eyes and looked up at her pleadingly. "It's not that much blood."

The look she gave him was full of concern and sympathy. "Oh, Face."

He shut his eyes, and flinched as she touched his forehead. There was a fear twisting in his stomach that he couldn't justify. He was hurt and she was a healer. It should've stopped there. But instead, the fear was amplified by the sense of powerlessness and shame that washed over him. He could feel her eyes on him, and they burned. Suddenly, he found himself wishing for more morphine, just so he could slip away again.

She moved away. She walked into the adjoining room and he heard the sound of her voice as she talked to the rest of the team. But he couldn't hear what she was saying. The fear quickly turned to paranoia. What was she telling them? Was she telling them about the blood, publicly announcing his shame? As far as he knew, they didn't know. He wanted it to _stay_ that way. Why was she talking to them?

She shut the door behind her as she returned. He watched her walk back to the bed and sit down with her back against the headboard, reclining with her eyes closed.

"What did you say to them?" He couldn't help but ask.

She glanced down at him and gave a soft smile. "I asked them for some privacy."

"Why?"

"Because that's too much blood to ignore, Face, and you know it."

His stomach turned. "And you told them that?"

"I didn't tell them anything."

He flinched again as she reached down to stroke his hair lightly.

"I think you should take a shower," she said softly.

He didn't answer. A shower would feel incredibly good right now. But he didn't want to think of her eyes on him as he sat there helpless to even wash away the evidence of his humiliation.

"Maybe a bath?" she suggested.

He screwed his eyes shut and nodded. For some reason he couldn't identify, the thought of a bath was marginally less humiliating.

His breath caught in his throat as her lips touched his forehead. "Relax, Face," she whispered as she pulled away. "I'll go draw you a bath."

*X*X*X*

BA's eyes had barely left the door adjoining the two rooms since Jessica had closed it. Murdock wasn't sure, at first, if the bigger part of it was the claustrophobia setting in or the uneasiness of being separated from Face. But it only took a few minutes for Hannibal to clear that up.

"Relax, BA," Hannibal said. "She's a doctor, remember?"

"Ain't the medicine I'm worried about."

"What are you worried about?"

It was really sort of a rhetorical question, and they all knew it. He was worried about Face being out of his line of sight, period. Especially when he'd been asked to stay away by a woman he hardly knew for a reason she wouldn't give.

"She's not going to hurt him, BA. And if he needs you, you'll still be able to hear him."

"Couldn't hear him in the next room. When Frankie was in there with him."

Murdock blinked slowly, staring out the window at the dim light outside. Night was setting in, and the alcohol was making it all seem very surreal - the silence, the scenery, the tension in the room. Even the topic of conversation seemed like something to be recalled from a storybook or a movie. Not something real. Not something they'd lived through. Not a death on the team, and Face in the next room, too injured to defend himself.

"Just wanna know what she's doin' to him."

"Give him some privacy, BA."

"He can have privacy. With the door open."

Somewhere in the haze of half-coherent thought, Murdock knew exactly what she was doing to him. He'd seen the blood on Face's slacks - the ones he'd gotten a little bit big because he wasn't too sure of Face's size anymore - earlier that evening. He hadn't said anything. It wasn't like Face didn't know about it. It wasn't like Jessica - who was more than qualified and giving him twenty-four hour medical care - wouldn't take care of it. And besides the hurt and humiliation he knew Face would feel, Murdock wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face his own feelings about it.

_ "Little faggot freak, I thought you liked it like this!" _

_ He used every trick he had ever learned from the bullies at school and military training, punching and gouging and struggling against the hands that finally held him down. __There were too many of them, but still he fought, driven by primal need to escape. A blow to the side of his head had him staggering. Another one to his gut and he dropped to his knees. Hands were everywhere, hitting him, holding him, keeping him on his knees. He felt his fingers break as someone grabbed his hand and pulled his arms behind his back. More punches, and the sound of laughter. Fingers prying at his mouth, tearing the skin, while other fingers drove hard into the hinge of his jaw. _

Another drink. He was drowning in the vodka, and he knew it. But it wasn't enough to take away the pain as the snapshots finally came together into one horrendous movie, playing out in his mind over and over again.

He'd known it from the moment he saw Face curled up in the shower. He'd felt it the instant Face withdrew from him, pulling away into himself. And it had, in one shocking instant, changed everything Murdock thought he knew about himself. The wounds, the words, the feeling of just wanting to fade away. He'd felt it for years without even knowing what it was. The cold thing that wrapped around his mind and memories, baring its fangs at him any time he dared to come too close. It was self-preservation. And although he'd heard that from the mouths of countless shrinks, he'd never _known _it before now.

Tears were blurring his vision. He didn't bother stopping them. He was turned towards, the window; Hannibal and BA wouldn't see. He took another drink, fueling the confusion, wishing it could make those memories go away again. The back of his chopper was supposed to be a safe place...

_"Aww, you don't need to play hard to get. A faggot like you will love sucking a real man's cock. Come on pussy, show me how you make your boyfriends happy."_

_ Fresh waves of panic and adrenaline drowned out the pain. His heart was pounding against his chest and his struggles were frantic. He couldn't let them do this. There was a cracking noise as his arm was yanked out of its socket and he screamed with pain before he realized his mouth was full and he could only make muffled sounds._

_ Suddenly he realized, with desperate, nauseating intensity, the way that everything he knew was crumbling around him. The man he had built and then rebuilt out of the fragments of himself was being taken from him. Just like that, just because they could, because he was different, because they didn't care, because he didn't matter, because he was nothing. _

_ These men weren't even the enemy. These were men on his side. Men who may have saved his life, men whose life he may have saved. His shame was doubled when he felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks. He was choking on the salty fluids that were pulsing into his mouth._

_ "Look at him crying like the little bitch he is."_

_ Loud laughter. He couldn't escape it, too weak. Tearing pain in his throat, choking and gagging. They were supposed to be on the same team..._

_ Renewed efforts at escape __earned him nothing but more pain - the odd sensation of flesh tearing, the friction fire, lubricated only by his own blood. Too full of pain to fight, too broken to scream, he could feel the consciousness slipping through his fingers as he sobbed and wished for death._

Murdock swallowed back the bile that was rising in his throat and gulped until his stomach tightened, threatening to purge the offensive fluids. The lightheaded feeling was a relief, and he dropped his head against the windowpane as the nausea swept through him. It took his mind off of the memories. It made him feel... not real.

He knew damn well what that blood on Face's slacks meant. He also knew why they needed to stay out of that room. Face's fear of the damage that had been done would pale in comparison to the fear that the team would _see _it. Murdock knew that feeling. It was the one and only thing that drawn him out of the team room and to the dispensary. He remembered that with clarity too - trying to appear normal, to attract only the attention of the kindest and gentlest looking nurse he could find. She'd cleaned his wounds and he'd sworn her to secrecy. His only comfort was in the fact that he never gave her his name, and in knowing he would never have to look her in the eye again.

Very slowly, well aware of how little it would take to land him on the floor, puking his guts out in the trashcan, Murdock reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one without thought. There were still things he didn't remember. Things he didn't want to. A few of the snapshots still didn't have a place. But two things he knew for certain: Face would live through this, scarred and changed but still able to survive.

And Cruiser was going to die.

*X*X*X*

Face had undressed in front of this woman a thousand times before - sensually, clinically, it didn't matter. She'd been a nurse and she'd been his lover, and he was anything but shy. Hell, she'd been the one to help him put these clothes _on_. She'd also been the one to remove the catheter that had still been in when he first came to. She'd kissed and touched every inch of his body at one time or another. She'd dressed and redressed his wounds in the past few days. He knew all of that. But somehow, it didn't matter.

It didn't matter that she'd been healing him from the first time he'd met her, that it was her purpose to heal him now. It didn't matter that he was hurt, and there was no hiding it. It didn't even matter that he trusted her more than he even knew how to. Somehow, in spite of all of the logic and reason, he'd never been so exposed and afraid in his life.

_"You've got to be the luckiest man I have ever met, you know that?"_

_ Standing in the center of the muggy, stale plywood box that served as an exam room, he kept his arms above his head as he watched her wrap his ribs. He smiled as his eyes followed her. "Why do you say that?"_

_ She shook her head and pulled away, securing the bandage. "Most of the guys who get caught that close to a grenade have much more substantial injuries."_

_ She would know. "In that case, I guess I am lucky."_

_ "Yeah." _

_ She sighed as she stepped back, running a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted. He smiled as he saw his opportunity._

_ "Think I'd be lucky enough to persuade you to have dinner with me?"_

_ She blinked, startled. "What?"_

_ He gave her a full smile as he finally extended a hand for a proper introduction. It should've seemed strange, given that he was standing in front of her mostly naked._

_ "Hi. I'm Face."_

_ She stared at his hand for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take it. "Jessica."_

_ "Very nice to meet you."_

An entire lifetime of memories were a potent reminder that she was safe. But it was instinct to hide those parts that were broken, deficient, damaged. She'd seen them all, but she'd never seen this. She'd heard. But hearing was different. What he told her and what he'd let her see... broken and vulnerable and destroyed. He didn't want her to see that. He didn't even want her to know. But it was her purpose to heal. And there was no one else to do it right now. Except Hannibal, and Face wanted him to see it even less.

"It's okay, Face," she whispered, gently wiping away his tears with her thumb.

He caught her wrist before she pulled her hand away, and held it there, against the side of his face. Against the stitches and the cut that burned as salty tears seeped inside. For a long moment, he didn't move, just watching her eyes. Then, slowly, he reached up with his other hand. He buried it in her hair as he pulled her close and pressed closed lips to hers. He lingered there, breathing ragged through his nose, feeding off of her until the emotions died down.

It was okay. He believed her when she said that. And he trusted her implicitly. That was all he thought about as he kissed her, over and over, drawing from her strength as he reached his hand down and slowly unbuttoned his slacks.

He didn't get far. Fumbling, weak fingers hesitated on the effort, and he bowed his head. He could feel the tightness in his chest. He was hyperventilating. "Jess..."

"It's okay, Face," she whispered, setting her hand over his. "Let me."

His breathing calmed. She helped him to stand. Then her hands were on him, stripping him. It was surreal. They'd done this a thousand times before. He knew her and trusted her - anything and everything about her. He had nothing to hide from her. But still his breath came harsh and ragged as he felt the pants slide down his legs, leaving him exposed.

He let his eyes slide closed, let the fear and tension and adrenaline ease out of him as she kissed his lips and let him feel her presence. Naked and open in front of her, the way he'd been countless times before, the confidence he was so used to feeling was gone without a trace.

Very slowly, he opened his eyes again and watched her as he reached out with the hand he didn't need for balance on the wall and gently touched the side of her face. "I love you."

She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his lips lightly. "Let's get you the tub."

*X*X*X*

Jessica let him stay in the water until it was cold. It gave her a chance to look over his wounds in a way that was almost comfortable instead of clinical as she washed him slowly. She'd talked to him, sharing the calm intimacy of memories they held. She'd made love to this man, so many times. But somehow, those times seemed so distant and foreign now. He was so hurt, he hardly looked at her. So afraid, he still flinched at her touch.

But he did trust her, in a way that frankly awed her. As he laid down on the bed again, he settled very carefully on his side with his back to her, and let her work. The bleeding was not internal, and that had been her greatest fear. The antibiotics he was finishing up would take care of infection. He would heal. He was safe.

As much as she was trying - and really, she was - to keep her emotions at the door, she couldn't hide the horror she felt at the level of violence. It happened every day; she heard about it on the news every night. Another innocent person killed, beaten, raped. There were TV shows to glorify the violence, as if the ten o'clock news wasn't horrific enough. But this wasn't a TV show. And it wasn't a news story. It was Face. _Her _Face. And, maybe just as horrendous, she knew the man who had done this savage violence. Once, a very long time ago, she'd shared his bed. That thought was accompanied by a sense of both guilt and terror. She didn't know what part she'd had to play in this charade. All these years later, she was sure it didn't matter. And yet, she felt those confused emotions all the same.

She pitched the gauze in the trash, washed her hands, and cracked the door open to let the rest of the team know they were welcome to enter. Then she returned to the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard. Naked beneath the sheets, Face was still turned away from her.

"Jessica?"

"I'm right here." She stroked a hand through his hair gently. "Just rest, Face."

He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was so quiet, she could barely hear him. "Lay with me." He took a deep, shaky breath. "Lay next to me, Jess. I don't want to be alone."

She watched him for a moment. Then, with one more quick look at the open door between the two rooms, she stood, stripped her jeans and T-shirt, and crawled under the sheet behind him, pressing carefully against his back - skin to skin, heat against heat. There was nothing sexual about it, even as she kissed the nape of his neck and rested her head on the pillow beside his, her arm draped carefully over him.

"You're not alone, Face."

She inhaled deeply, drawing in his scent. Even in spite of the injury, the blood, the pain... he was still him. So comforting, so real, and so right. Just like the feel of his skin on hers. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply. And for the first time since she'd gotten the phone call from Hannibal, she let herself slip into a deep and restful sleep.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"It's time to find Cruiser."

They'd known it was coming. Face was walking, eating, and functioning on only oral painkillers. The stitches were out. He wasn't talking much, but that was a matter of choice. He understood what they were saying. His eyes tracked them. He responded to yes and no questions. He'd heard the words that Hannibal had just said with such clarity and resounding authority, they were like a bomb dropping in the middle of the room. All of the anger and emotion he'd been keeping down for almost two weeks was just under the surface of that statement. And BA was _very _glad to hear it.

"How we gonna do that?"

Murdock lit another cigarette - he always seemed to have one now - and passed the pack into Jessica's outstretched hand. Arms crossed over his chest, BA ignored them both and waited for Hannibal to explain his plan.

"We started this mission assuming Stockwell really did want him," Hannibal said. "I haven't seen anything that makes me change my mind about that, regardless of whether this little stunt of Cruiser's was planned or opportunistic."

"It was planned," Face whispered, eyes fixed on the foot of the bed. "He told me as much."

"Which begs the question of how much Stockwell knew about it," Murdock said, his voice flat and cold.

"Whether he did or not, I guarantee he's withheld something. And I want to know what it is. Because at this point, I'm prepared to go as far as I have to in order to _personally_ deliver Cruiser to him. Unless, of course, it appears that he wants him for some purpose other than to kill him."

"In which case, you do what?" Jessica asked quietly.

"As far as I'm concerned, he's signed his own death warrant," Hannibal said flatly. "We'll deal with specifics when the time comes."

From his tone and his posture, Hannibal appeared entirely unshakeable – as if he had the entire world figured out. It was a relief to see. Too long sitting around and waiting had shaken BA almost as much as the sight of what Cruiser had done to Face.

"Do you really think you'll find him?" Jessica asked.

"Not easily," Hannibal granted. "He's outnumbered by some _very _pissed off men, and he knows that better than anyone."

BA growled softly and pounded his fist into his open hand. "We'll find him."

"Stockwell may very well think he's still got this whole situation under control. And maybe he does. I'll know by his reaction, when we talk to him."

"Got a plan on how we're going to get him to tell us what he really knows?" Murdock asked, exhaling a long stream of smoke and staring at a distant spot on the wall.

"Stockwell _will _tell us what we need to know," Hannibal said plainly. There was no question in his voice. "How that happens depends a lot on how cooperative he feels like being."

Hannibal glanced back and forth between each of them, waiting for anyone to voice questions or concerns. Nobody had anything to say. With perfect posture and fire in his eyes, Hannibal finished quietly.

"I want everybody to get a good night's sleep. We're on the first plane back to Virginia tomorrow morning."

*X*X*X*

Cruiser stepped through the gate and into the terminal with a stretch and a yawn. Just waking up from a nice, long nap, he was rested and refreshed and wearing a smile.

"I've never been to New York City before," Ted exclaimed as he stepped up beside him, dragging his suitcase along. Cruiser never could figure out why he insisted on carrying that damn thing with him. Of course, he wasn't the only one. Josef had insisted on moving shit from one place to the next. So had Alex, and Jacob, and Thomas, and Martin, and Stanley, and... what was that other kid's name?

Cruiser didn't dwell on the thought. It didn't make a damn bit of difference, anyway. Whoever he was, he was long since dead. Nobody would even miss him. Gone out of some gay bar in Amsterdam – fewer people gave a damn when fags disappeared and they were so easy to pick up from shitty places like that – and off to see the world. Someday, someone might find his body. But Cruiser doubted it. He was normally pretty careful about that sort of thing, ever since the incident in East Germany.

"It looks so crowded," Ted exclaimed as he followed a half step behind Cruiser. "Even from up in the air."

Cruiser followed the directional signs, ignoring the baggage claim and instead heading for the front of the building. "If you like crowded, you'll love Times Square."

"Times Square? Really?"

Half-listening to Ted and his wide eyed intrigue with the big American city, Cruiser led the way outside and to the end of the terminal entrances, where the cabs were all lined up for passengers.

"I've seen pictures of Times Square. I never thought I would actually get a chance to see it!"

Cruiser chuckled dryly, still not looking at him. "Told you, kid. Stick with me and you'll see the world."

At least some of it. Ted was good at following instructions, but he lacked... drive. And drive really made the dynamic more interesting. He'd done his job, like a good little lackey. And perhaps it really was a good thing that there wasn't an ounce of rebellion in him; it kept him from questioning any orders he received in return for the free ride. But he would never really enjoy the true satisfaction of what Cruiser was doing.

Knowing that, Cruiser hadn't actually toldhim why he needed him to bring that cocktail of drugs to the hotel lobby. It had worked out nicely - almost perfectly but for the interruption at the door. Luckily, Ted had been waiting right where he was supposed to when Cruiser climbed out the window and scaled down the building from balcony to balcony. Thank God, the kid never asked questions like "why." If he had, he would've gotten off this ride a long time ago.

"Can we stay in one of those high rise hotels like they have in the movies?"

Even at the ripe old age of twenty, the kid still sounded like an overexcited twelve-year-old - voice cracking and all. Cruiser smirked at that. Perhaps a high rise hotel was in order. It would be a nice parting gift of sorts. And hotel murders happened all the time.

"Tell you what, you pick whatever hotel you want and I'll set us up."

"Really?"

New York City was a great place to get lost. Lots of sights, things to do, people to disappear into. He was going to enjoy it here, at least for a few days. Then it would be time to move on. Best not to stay in one place for too long.

Ted was still rambling about hotel possibilities as they slipped into the back of a cab with an Arab driver. He almost rolled his eyes. He'd seen enough Arabs lately to last him a lifetime.

"Times Square," he instructed.

"No problem."

"So what are we going to do in New York City?" Ted asked with eager anticipation on his face.

Cruiser smiled back as he reclined comfortably in the leather back seat, arm stretched along the windowsill. "Celebrate."

***X*X*X***

Murdock was asleep in the chair against the wall. Face had fallen asleep in Jessica's arms. She had clung to him until his breathing was steady and deep, and her urge for a cigarette was too strong to be ignored. Then, very slowly and carefully, she'd untangled herself from him, making sure not to wake him. Not that she thought he would wake up. He was exhausted. Nothing short of an earthquake would rouse him from his deep and hopefully dreamless sleep.

She'd brought no clothes with her from home. She hadn't brought anything but her purse. At the moment, she was regretting that. They'd gotten her clothes. But they weren't _hers_, and that made a difference. They didn't fit, didn't feel quite right.

Oh, for crying out loud. What right did she have to complain?

She pulled the sheet up over Face and rested her hand on his head. Watching him sleep for just a moment, she allowed herself a smile at how beautiful he was. Peaceful. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. The mangled scar on the side of his face, while it had sent him reeling into panic attacks the first time he'd seen it, meant nothing to her. He was still gorgeous.

She found her purse by the chair Murdock was sleeping in and rifled through it until she had her smokes. Then she grabbed the ashtray and set it on the TV, staring out the window as she lit her cigarette. Taking a deep drag, she spent a long moment in calm silence before resting her forehead in the cool glass and letting the conversation from earlier replay in her mind.

_"You don't have to come with us, Face." Hannibal's voice was full of patience and understanding. "We can set you up somewhere safe. I told you I'd take care of this, and I meant it. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."_

_Face breathed deep and let it out slow. "How long do I have to think about it?"_

_ "How long do you need?"_

_ "Just give me a few hours."_

She'd known then what his answer would be. She'd known it even more as she watched him pace the floor, back and forth, head down and hands in his pockets. It didn't matter what was best for him, as if he were the only one to consider. The fact was, he'd never be the only one to consider. Not in his mind. He'd never let them go on without him. He'd never stay behind.

_ "I wish you wouldn't, you know," she said softly. "You don't need to see him again. Just let them take care of it."_

_ "It's not about Cruiser. It's about being with the team."_

_ "The team will be back, you can be with them then."_

_ "That's not the point. And it's not the same as being there when they need me."_

_ "They don't need you. You heard him say that."_

Arguing with him was a moot point. He was going. And she was going with him. There was no question about either portion of that.

"You okay?"

Murdock's voice startled her, but she did a good job of hiding it. In the dim light, she turned and gave him a fake smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He hesitated for a long moment, then stood up and came closer to her. He didn't speak, just reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of vodka – mostly full – which he set on the windowsill between them. Then he found a pack of cigarettes – mostly empty – and lit one. She smiled a little. She had never seen him smoke before these few weeks. He must be like Face, only smoking when things were bad. Of course, she'd never seen him drink, either.

She followed his gaze to Face, taking a deep drag and feeling the smoke fill her lungs. "He's so strong," she whispered. There was more she wanted to say, but she wasn't able to get the words out.

"Always has been," Murdock answered quietly. "Strong and stubborn."

His voice was full of pain. Something inside of her recognized it. He was Face's best friend; they had something she'd never been able to understand, but she had never questioned. She knew this had to be hurting him just as much as it was hurting her.

Very carefully, she reached out a slightly shaking hand and gently touched his arm. "He's is going to be okay, Murdock."

Murdock nodded as he dragged again. "Oh, I know." The smile was not entirely forced, but it was not entirely genuine, either. "If I didn't believe that, I'd never leave this room. None of us would."

The cigarette was like a lifeline, and he clung to it like one. She watched him carefully. He was wrong, somehow. There was something flat and faraway in his eyes, like he was just pretending to be Murdock. She had seen that look before, in other people. She had seen it in Face's eyes. It was the look of someone who was thinking of bringing death to someone. It was a look she had seen on Cruiser, and the look on Face when she talked about Cruiser. She was beginning to notice a theme.

She looked at the vodka as she took another deep inhale and exhale again. "Cruiser did this to him."

Murdock's eyes flashed at that. He didn't even try to hide it. Another deep drag, and he turned to look out the window at the darkness outside. "Cruiser is dead. He just doesn't know it yet."

His voice, so unlike his usual, animated self sent a shiver down her spine. There was no doubt in her mind he was one hundred percent serious. She suddenly knew, as sure as she was breathing, Murdock would go to hell and back to kill Cruiser.

But Cruiser was a much better trained monster.

"He could have killed Face," she whispered quietly. "What's to keep him from killing you?"

Murdock laughed at that. Actually laughed. But it wasn't his normal laugh. It was cold and dark and dangerous. She shifted uncomfortably again at the sound of it.

Murdock finished his cigarette, put it out, and crossed his arms over his chest, not saying a word. He wasn't the least bit concerned about Cruiser trying to kill him.

It took her a moment of reflection to even connect this ice man standing in front of her to the Murdock she knew. She had to turn her head away from his look. It was so out of place on him, but yet he looked so comfortable wearing it. Staring out the window, she fought her own conflicting emotions. "He needs to die Murdock, I know that."

She eyed the bottle again. Murdock grabbed it, and held it out to her, but she shook her head as she looked back out the window.

"But?" Murdock prodded. Since there was clearly a "but" meant to follow that statement.

Jessica sighed. "But I don't want to have to do what you did with me," she finally finished.

"What do you mean?"

She looked up at him. "I don't want to have to go get Bev so she can try to put you back together."

His eyes slipped out of focus as he stared out the window. "That won't happen."

He grabbed the bottle and took a drink. If he had any reaction at all to the taste, it wasn't visible. Jessica put her hand on his. She wanted to believe he would end this, that he would put Cruiser in the only place where he could never hurt them again. But did Murdock really realize what Cruiser had become?

"If you do go after him, please be careful," she pleaded softly. "Face, Bev, me... we need you. And Hannibal and BA. They need you too."

Very slowly, he turned and looked at her. For the first time, it was something almost akin to emotion hidden there. Just as cold, just as determined, but at the same time understanding. He studied her for a long moment, then looked away.

"I'm not going to run off after him half-cocked, Jess," he reassured her. There was a flicker of her friend in those dark eyes, just for a moment. It was comforting, reassuring. And then it was gone. "Besides. I'm not the only one who's got a score to settle with him. The rest of the team does, too."

"Promise me?"

He looked back at her, but didn't speak.

"Promise me, Murdock."

He hesitated for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. "I promise."

With a deep sigh she pulled herself to her feet and put out her cigarette. Then she stepped closer and put her arms around Murdock. "Thank you."

It took him a moment to respond. When he did, she had to admit that she felt better. When she wasn't looking at those cold, dead eyes, he felt almost like him. "You're welcome, Jessica."

She pulled back and gave a tight, forced smile. "Just be careful, okay?"

He nodded wordlessly, and she looked again at Face. It took her a moment to move toward him again.

"Jess?"

She paused and turned back. "Yeah?"

He hesitated briefly. "You know how to shoot a gun, right?"

Her eyes widened, but she nodded her head. "It's been a while, but yeah. I know how."

"Are you _willing _to shoot?"

She glanced at Face and then back at Murdock, her voice hard. "More than willing."

Murdock watched her for a moment, then stepped away from the wall and reached into the back of his khakis. Eyes locked on hers, he held out a silver revolver in her direction. "Just in case," he said quietly.

She stared at the gun for a long moment. It looked almost like Face's - the one she hadn't seen since she'd arrived. That pistol was as much a part of him as his smile - something he used to protect himself. And that was something he couldn't do right now.

She bit her lip as she took the revolver in her hand. It was heavy for the size. After a moment, she looked up at Murdock. "Thanks."

He gave her a slight smile. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked back to the bed and slipped the gun under the pillow, just like she had watched Face do a hundred times.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"What's on your mind, Captain?"

It was an open question, but one that was almost impossible to answer. Picking up his plastic cup again, Murdock drained another couple of ounces worth of vodka and rang the flight attendant to refill it. There was no change in his expression, but the muscles in his jaw had tightened.

"Lot on my mind, Colonel."

"Like what?"

If he disagreed with any part of this plan, he wasn't saying it. He was just adding it to everything else he was keeping locked down tight. Had he even eaten since this happened? For the past two weeks, the man seemed to be existing on a diet of cigarettes, vodka, and air.

"I'm going to kill him. I don't care what Stockwell wants."

Hannibal nodded slowly. Murdock's jaw was working back and forth, as if he was fighting back more words that were trying to escape. His gaze shifted, across the aisle to where Face was sleeping between BA - also asleep - and Jessica. The stewardess returned to refill Murdock's cup. It was a long, silent moment and another swig of vodka before Murdock looked back at Hannibal.

"Why did he go after Face?"

Murdock was watching him intently as if trying to gauge both his reaction to the question and his answer. Hannibal hesitated for a long moment, knowing Murdock was looking for a very specific answer. Unfortunately, it was an answer Hannibal really couldn't give.

"I can't say for sure. But I suspect he considered him the easiest target."

Murdock shook his head. "No, he didn't. He always considered _me _the weakest member of the team. Always."

"I didn't say weakest, I said easiest."

Murdock's frown deepened.

"Face was emotional, angry, and Cruiser knew how to play that. He knew how I felt about it and how to insert himself into the situation to be there when Face was trying to come to terms with everything he was dealing with." Hannibal paused again. "Part of that was my fault, for not seeing it sooner."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Hannibal paused, then finally took a deep breath. "It may have had something to do with the fact that he and Face had a falling out just before we left Vietnam. To the best of my knowledge, it was never really resolved. Not from Cruiser's point of view."

Murdock's eyes locked on the plastic cup in his hands, turning it slowly around and around. "Falling out," he repeated.

"Yes."

"What was their falling out about Hannibal?"

Hannibal hesitated. "Face believed that Cruiser had turned on the team. And he did what any one of us might have done in his situation."

"Turned on the team how?"

Hannibal studied him for a long moment, hesitating on the answer to that question. "Face told me he thought you might be remembering things."

Murdock ducked his head lower.

"If you want to tell me what it is you remember," Hannibal offered quietly, "I can try to make sense of it for you."

Murdock shook his head. "No, I don't need you to make sense out of it. I just need you to tell me. And tell me the truth."

"About what?"

Murdock swallowed noticeably, then looked up and locked gazes with Hannibal. "They were fighting because of me, weren't they?" he whispered. His voice was trembling slightly, but he was fighting hard to keep it low and even. "Because of something I did. I don't even know what I did, but I know... what happened because of it. I know why face went after Cruiser. I know it was about me. What I want to know..." Murdock took a deep breath, and put his head back, eyes closed. "What I need to know, is what did I do? What started all this?"

"I don't know," he finally answered quietly. "And that's the honest to God truth."

"Who does?"

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment. Pretty soon, _he _was going to need a glass of vodka. "I imagine Face does. But I can't say that for sure."

Murdock leaned forward again, holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Damn it..."

"Look Murdock, it doesn't matter. _You _didn't violate this team. Cruiser did, when he took a private matter - whatever that was - and made it public. Face did, too, when he went off on his own and beat the hell out of Cruiser."

"And you _wouldn't _have?" The hurt, anger, and confusion were mixed in equal amounts, and his voice was a little louder than it needed to be in the quiet plane.

"I didn't say that," Hannibal corrected softly. "He did what any one of us would have probably done if we'd found you instead of him. He protected your privacy, and he beat the living hell out of the man he thought was responsible for what happened to you."

"_Thought _was responsible?"

Hannibal sighed. "Murdock, I told you. I don't know what happened. I don't know how much of a part Cruiser _did _play in it. But I do know Face. And I do know he wouldn't have done that to a member of his own team if he wasn't convinced."

Murdock glanced over at Face again. For a long moment, he was quiet. Then, slowly, he took a deep breath. "The night before - the fight you and BA broke up - Cruiser said that it wasn't about me. That it was something about... about Dai."

Hannibal frowned, evaluating that look, that tone, very carefully for any hint of the memories he knew were still fresh. Finally, Murdock turned and looked up at him. "I just don't know what to think anymore. I don't know how the pieces go together."

"Cruiser was never the same after the camp," Hannibal said quietly. "You know that. And as for Face, I can't blame him for what he did, regardless of the words that were exchanged. I've said it before - any one of us might have done it if we'd known what he knew."

Murdock lowered his head, but didn't respond. Hannibal waited a moment, and took a deep, slow breath before continuing.

"But that doesn't make it right, Murdock. What he did fragmented us even further, and when the time came for us to live together or die alone, we all crawled off into our separate corners to die. That was my fault. Because I didn't recognize the danger when the members of my team – Face, BA, and now you - go off on their own with their own personal agendas for vengeance."

That hit a nerve. He could see it in Murdock's eyes as he looked back at them. There were suddenly emotions there, shifting and moving, fighting for control. Murdock's mouth opened but there was a no sound for a few seconds. When he finally spoke there was pain and confusion overriding the anger Hannibal knew was there.

"I don't want vengeance, Hannibal. I just want Face to _know_ that Cruiser won't be able to hurt him again. That it's over."

"I understand that. And he willknow that."

"You're damn right, he will. Because I'm going to kill Cruiser."

"No, Murdock," Hannibal corrected as gently as he could. "_We_ will take care of Cruiser. _We _will. Not you, not me. We'll do it as a team. Because I know what the ultimate outcome is if we do it any other way."

Murdock looked away. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded slightly. "Fine. _We _will kill Cruiser."

Hannibal forced a tight smile as he studied him for a long moment. "We very well might, Captain. I'm certainly not looking to do him any favors."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal had been over this conversation in his head at least a dozen times. Each time it was different, and yet it was remarkably the same. As he finally stepped into the room of Stockwell's grounded jet, past the two guards, his eyes immediately locked on his target.

"We need the rest of the information on James Harrison."

Stockwell looked up at Hannibal and then leaned back into his chair a little. If he even noticed Murdock, he didn't acknowledge him. And if he was on guard by the demand in Hannibal's tone, he didn't show it.

"Since you were charged with finding Mr. Harrison, almost three weeks ago, I am forced to assume that you were unsuccessful in your mission objective."

"Not entirely. We did find him. And he told us some very interesting things that you failed to mention. Now we need the _rest_ of the information you have on him so that we can find him again."

Stockwell paused, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and folding his hands in front of him. "Am I supposed to believe that you let him go?"

"No. You're supposed to believe that he escaped. And if you still want him, you're going to give us that information."

"And if he is of no use to me at this... late date?"

"You're still going to give us the information. But I don't threaten hypothetically. So what's it going to bee, Stockwell?"

The man was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was full of the cold superiority Hannibal was used to hearing, but it was lacking that mildly amused tone. Most likely, that was due to the fact they had gone off the grid. And for that, Hannibal was making no apologies.

"I'm not surprised that Sergeant Harrison had a very self-serving story to share with you."

"Neither am I. But facts are facts."

"Any additional information I may have will not help you to locate him."

"I'll determine that once I've seen your file."

Stockwell stalled a moment, eyeing him and then, for the first time, Murdock. He looked back at Hannibal before he continued. "We seemed to have lost communication with you in Bangkok. An oversight on your part, I'm sure."

It was Stockwell's version of a reprimand. But he was in a tricky spot and they both knew it. The question was, which did he want more: control of the team or Cruiser?

"If you want Harrison, I want the file. Otherwise, you'd better call in all the backup you've got because I will not just walk out of here, I will take everyone with me who tries to stand in my way. And I will take the file. And that is nota hypothetical statement."

Stockwell frowned. "There is no need for dramatics, Colonel."

"Give me the goddamn file."

"What makes you think I have it with me?"

"Because it's an open mission. That's how it works, Stockwell. You press a little button on your phone and Carla comes running with all the paperwork on anything that's in progress right now. And she won't be far. Because you want to know _everything _that's happening."

There was silence as Stockwell stared at him for a moment. Finally, with a tight smile, he broke Hannibal's stare and pressed the intercom. "Carla, bring the mission file on James Harrison to me."

"Tell her to bring his personal file, too," Hannibal said coldly.

Stockwell smiled. "One thing at a time, Colonel."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, but he waited. He'd bide his time to see just what was being offered here. If it wasn't enough, he'd get more. He was bound and determined to get all of it.

"You will find that, just as I informed you, Sergeant Harrison was sent to eliminate Natasha Kerninisky, wife of Pavel Kerninisky. Of the two, Natasha is the true power and the true danger. Pavel is nothing more than an easily controlled drunk."

"Except he was sent by _you_, not by the CIA."

"The lines between powers can be hazy. What I wish and what certain powerful people within the Agency want are identical. It's just a matter of who signs the order."

"Don't bullshit me," Hannibal shot back. "He was your agent, not theirs. He knows way too much about how your twisted little mind works to convince me otherwise."

"Who's agent he is matters little in the larger scheme of things. Really, Colonel, do you think you haven't been involved in Agency projects while under my command?"

"I'm sure we have. But that doesn't make us CIA agents – which you explicitly said he was."

Stockwell reached for the Waterford highball glass on his desk and took a drink. "It matters little. His mission was clear, regardless of whose control he was under. Natasha is known as the Bloody Baroness for a very good reason. As a very high ranking and ruthless agent within the KGB, she has more than earned the title."

Hannibal shook his head. "Stockwell, I don't give a damn who you sent him to kill or why. And I don't care why he did or didn't fulfill it. The only thing I care about is that you know a _hell_ of a lot more about him if he's your agent than if he's theirs. And I expect to be very enlightened when I see this file."

Stockwell set the glass back down, but kept his hand around it. His gaze was steady and unreadable as always. "He was also a member of your team," Stockwell said simply. "How well do you really know him?"

Hannibal felt a flash of anger at that, and his jaw clenched. "Not as well as I will once I see those files."

Carla entered before Stockwell could reply. Moving with her customary efficiency and stealth, she slipped past Hannibal and handed the file to Stockwell, not even sparing a glance at the team.

"Thank you, Carla."

"You're very welcome."

She left again just as quickly and quietly as she'd come. Stockwell waited until she'd closed the door behind her before he spoke again. "When word of Sergeant Harrison's arrest and imprisonment reached me, Cain 8 was sent to retrieve him. He reported in when he reached Russia, and was never heard from again. We were forced to presume he was deceased. Cain 24 was sent, with similar results."

"You told us that before." Hannibal held out his hand for the file. He was far more interested in what they hadn'tbeen told before.

"Cain16 was the final agent sent," Stockwell continued, handing over the folder. "The day before you were assigned on your mission, I received a call from him on my personal line."

Hannibal's eyes remained locked on Stockwell. He could tell by the way the man was avoiding eye contact that he was about to give away previously concealed information.

"He spoke only three words: send the A-team. Then he was... eliminated."

"Eliminated," Murdock repeated, demanding clarification. It was the first thing he'd said so far, and Hannibal had to admit that it was very good timing.

Stockwell's lips pressed together in a tight line. "From what I heard, I do believe his throat was cut."

Hannibal's jaw clenched in anger. "And you didn't think this was important to tell us?"

"It changes nothing," Stockwell answered automatically. "You still need to find him. He's killed a lot of people, and knows a lot of potentially dangerous information."

"Oh, don't worry," Hannibal said coldly, breezing quickly through the contents of the folder in his hands. "We'll find him."

"One other thing, Colonel."

Hannibal looked up.

"I'm not certain how clearly it was specified before, but I do need him alive. He is in possession of some very sensitive information. If he is not brought back to me alive, he is of no use to me. And all deals are off."

"You're asking an awful lot," Hannibal said. "What is it you plan to do with him when you get him back?"

Stockwell smiled. "That is a matter of my concern, not yours."

"No, it's very much my concern," Hannibal corrected. "It's a matter of cost-benefit ratio."

"What do you mean?"

"I _will _find Harrison. When I do, he _will_ die. If there's any question about that last part, you won't see him before he does."

Stockwell smiled, seemingly amused by that. "Colonel, I never took you for one who was interested in murder. In fact, I do recall that our original agreement specified no assassinations or eliminations whatsoever."

"I'm making an exception, under the circumstances."

"I see." Stockwell lowered his eyes. "Unfortunately, I cannot make such an exception."

Hannibal's jaw clenched. Taking a slight step forward, he leaned on the desk in front of him. "You want to put him back to work, don't you?"

"Harrison is of no use to me as an agent," Stockwell said firmly. "He's gone against his orders, killed other agents. I cannot stand for that. Once he is returned to me, he will never be permitted back into the field."

"So, what?" Murdock shot. "He gets to retire to Acapulco?"

"Hardly." Stockwell's voice was cold. "I assure you, once I have my information, I know how to take care of my own affairs. My rogue agent _is_ my affair. All you must do is find him, and bring him to me. Then you may retire to Acapulco or wherever you'd like. With your pardons."

"_If _we bring him to you alive," Hannibal clarified.

"Yes." Stockwell nodded. "And if you do not, you might as well not come back at all. Three weeks is a very long time to not check in. The next time you stop reporting your progress, at least once every twenty-four hours, I will assume that you have voided our agreement. And as I said... I know how to take care of my rogue agents."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed at the threat.

Stockwell paused, and glanced up as Carla stepped into the room. She took a few steps, and leaned down to whisper to him, too low for anyone else to hear.

Stockwell smiled and nodded as she stood straight again. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. I have some business to tend to."

Hannibal exchanged glances with Murdock, then took a step back, bringing the file with him as he headed out of the jet.

*X*X*X*

Stockwell felt the glares on him as the two men exited the room. He waited until they were completely out of the jet to reach for the phone. "Empress One, is your line secure?"

"Affirmative, Empress One, the line is secure."

"What is your status?"

"Currently, I am in New York City."

Stockwell blinked in surprise. "New York City? What are you doing there? Last I heard, you were in Cairo."

"Empress Four left Cairo four days ago with an unidentified man who looks to be of Northern European decent."

"He's running?"

"It would appear that way."

"I see."

Stockwell paused briefly to consider this new information. Perhaps it was just as well.

"Eliminate them both," Stockwell ordered. "Empress Four and his friend. Make sure they are never found."

"Affirmative. Will report at 1800."

Stockwell didn't reply as he hung up the phone and nodded to Carla. With a quiet smile, she turned and headed for the door.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Hannibal had the keys in the ignition, but he wasn't turning the car over. Murdock lit another cigarette and rolled down the window, holding his head in his hand.

"Captain, you look like hell."

"Just get us back to the motel."

"Actually, I was thinking I might drop you off somewhere else."

"I don't want to go anywhere else."

"We're not going through the contents of this file tonight."

"Fine."

"We're strung out and we're jetlagged and we need a chance to settle in."

"I said that's fine."

Hannibal let the silence stretch for a long moment. Then, finally, he turned over the engine and took a deep breath. "I am going to drive to Beverly Richards' apartment. When I get there, if you don't want to see her, you can stay in the car while I go and explain to her what's happened here so that she knows why you haven't been in contact with her."

Murdock took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Since when do you give a damn about Beverly?"

"I don't. But I do care about you. And when you're not drowning yourself in alcohol and bad memories, she means a lot to you."

Murdock turned and glared at Hannibal. But he didn't answer. Hannibal looked away, out the front of the rental car as he put it in gear and pulled away. The drive to Beverly's apartment - the same complex that Murdock had lived in years ago, when they'd first come here - was silent. As they pulled to a stop in the parking lot, Hannibal didn't turn the car off. Thoughts racing, well aware of how much easier it would be to simply stay in the car, Murdock hid his face again.

"I don't even know that she's home."

"She's home," Hannibal said with certainty. "Her light is on."

He looked up at the second story balcony. Not only was the light on, the vertical blinds were open. He could see her pass from the kitchen to the hallway. He looked away again.

"What's it going to be, Captain?"

"What am I supposed to say to her?"

"I don't know."

"What would you say to her?"

"I'm not you."

"You said you were prepared to go knock on her door. And say what?"

"That there's a man in the car who needs her."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his head, chin to chest. "Damn it, I'm still drunk. I don't want to talk to her right now."

"Murdock, you've been with her for four years now. I can't tell you what to say to her. But I can tell you that you need her. And that it's okay to need her. It's good. Because right now, I need a safe place to leave you."

Looked up again, confused. "To leave me?"

"Yes," Hannibal answered seriously. "Because tonight, _I _need to rest. And in order to do that, I need to know that you're safe."  
Murdock looked away.

"Please. If you can't do it for yourself, and you can't do it for her, then do it for me."

Murdock was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed. Gathering his thoughts, he opened the car door and stepped out into the parking lot, heading up to her door with uneven steps.

*X*X*X*

Jessica gasped, startled, as something woke her. For a moment, she wasn't sure what it was. Lifting her head, she glanced around her. BA was asleep in the chair in the corner. He'd barely left that spot since they'd finished settling into the motel. She watched him for a moment, and listened to the silence around her. It was evening, but her internal clock thought it was morning, and in either case, she had slept far too long to even want to try anymore.

"You okay?"

Her eyes darted back to Face, who was watching her with half-lidded eyes, and she gave a slight smile. "I'm good. How are you?"

"Cramped." He shifted, trying to stretch, then turned onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. "Not tired."

She smiled knowingly. "I know what you mean."

Lying back down beside him, she reached down to smooth his hair back from his forehead. "You in any pain?" she asked quietly.

"Two. I'm okay."

He breathed deep, slow, his eyes sliding closed as his dry, chapped fingers stroked lightly down the line of her jaw. His lips were chapped and dry too. He could use some chapstick.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

She smiled back, stroking her fingers through his hair. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She had almost lost him. What would she have done without him? She almost never heard those words again.

"I love you, too."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she heard him take in a slow, staggered breath. "There's this part of me that thinks - that knows - it'll never be the same." He half-opened his eyes to look at her as he stroked his fingers over the side of her neck, seeking out the warm places on her skin. "And it makes me realize the things that don't change. Like how I feel when I'm with you."  
"The only thing that changes is that I think I love you more every day."

That sound corny and she didn't give a damn. It was true. Just touching him made her feel.., what? There was safety, here with him. He was hurt and broken, that much was true. But _they _hadn't changed, except that she felt even closer, more a part of him. And stronger, because he needed that.

She brushed his hair out of his eyes and he tipped his head slightly toward her hand. "You scared the hell out of me, you know."

"Why?"

"A phone call in the middle of the night from Hannibal is never a good thing."

He took a slow, measured breath as his thumb stroked her cheekbone lightly. "You don't get rid of me that easy, Jess."

"Promise?"

He smiled, and her heart melted - right there, on the spot. She had to kiss him. Things like trauma and PTSD meant nothing right now. Very slowly, she pressed her mouth against his. He hesitated just a beat, then slowly returned it - lips moving against hers gently as his hand slid back into her hair. As he finally pulled back a little, he tipped her head down so that he was forehead to forehead with her. He was silent for a long moment, fingers stroking her scalp lightly, before he finally spoke.

"I want to believe... it might all go back to the way it was. But it won't. It's too far gone now. Too broken."

"It won't be the same," she agreed quietly. "But it will still be real. You will heal. We're going to be fine. I promise."

He closed his eyes, breathing out slow as he nuzzled against her just slightly. "Don't leave me, Jess."

"There's not a force on earth that could make me walk away from you, Face."

Letting her hand rub calming circles on his very warm, very alive skin, Jess waited until his eyes were closed to let her own eyelids slide shut. It wasn't just another promise to him, it was a vow that was etched into her soul, just like he was.

*X*X*X*

"Murdock!" The surprise on Beverly's face was evident. And almost immediately, it was replaced by relief. "Where on earth have you been?"

Standing in her doorway, he didn't come in. Holding the wall to improve his balance, to try and hide the fact of just how drunk he still was - even the adrenaline of facing down Stockwell hadn't quite been enough to sober him for more than a brief period - he stood still and searched for words. Then, finally, he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry." It seemed like as good a place as any to start.

The look in her eyes changed to one of deeper emotion - fear. "For what?" she asked.

"That I didn't call. And..." He took a deep breath. "And that I'm here now because... because I'm drunk and exhausted and because I don't have anywhere else to go right now."

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, finally, she pulled the door open wider and put her arms up. "Come here."

He walked into her embrace, sliding his arms around her waist and letting her take some - not all - of his weight. For a few long, quiet minutes, he simply stood there in her open doorway and in her arms, relieved for the comfort of a friend who was _not _hurting the same way he was.

"Murdock, you smell horrible."

Any other time, he would've laughed at that. But this time, he knew it was true.

"Like vodka and cigarettes and sweat... I've dealt with people on the street who hadn't showered in _months _and smelled better than you do right now."

He had to smile at the casual, accepting way she pointed that out. As she pulled away, she made a face at him, then shut the door behind him. "Go shower," she ordered, pointing to the bathroom. "Get out of those clothes and wrap them up in a trash bag so they can go in the trash without making my whole apartment stink."

She grabbed onto his jacket and pressed her face against it.

"Jesus, even your jacket smells. How the hell am I supposed to clean that?"

"Heh." He put his arms back as she dragged the jacket off of his shoulders. "My jacket's seen worse."

"Shower," she ordered again, holding the jacket off of her fingers at arm's length. "Now. And this is going on the balcony until I can... spray it with air freshener or something."

He actually chuckled at that, and she gave him a mock glare as she deposited his jacket in the metal chair on the balcony. "You're still standing here, stinking up my living room?"

"Did you get bossier while I was away?"

She gave him a full smile and put her hands on her hips in her best domineering pose. "You'd better move before I break out the bullwhip."

And for just a moment, as he felt the laughter bubbling up inside of him, everything was okay in his world.

*X*X*X*

The phone in the kitchen rang twice before Carla decided she would answer it. As she rose from the sofa, she took her glass of wine with her and set it on the counter. "Hello?"

"Are you alone?"

She smiled, glad she had answered. "Yes, Hunt. Why? Are you planning a visit?"

"Actually, I'm concerned," he admitted. "Have you heard anything from Cain 13?"

Surprised, she hesitated. "No. Should I have?"

"He said he would report this evening, and I haven't heard anything from him."

She frowned deeply. Cain 13 was one of their very best operatives. He would not miss a check-in call unless something was very wrong. "What do you think happened?"

"I hesitate to make any conclusions without evidence." He paused. "But you _do _know the man he was sent after."

"Yes, but surely he would have taken precautions."

"As did the others."

She leaned on the wall, hugging her arms over her chest. A lingering silence, an audible sigh, and finally she spoke softly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Empress Four is dangerous, unpredictable, and very _good _at what he's been trained to do." She paused briefly. "You know that the best way of catching him is with the A-Team. Why not equip them with what they need and let them bring him in?"

He sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, that has become the point. If they bring him to me, thereby fulfilling what I assured them was their final mission..."

She sighed as he trailed off. "I still don't understand why you did that."

"It doesn't matter. I can't change it now."

"Even so, what difference does it make in the end? Surely you _do _know someone who could get them those pardons if it comes to that."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"Regardless of what part I did or did not play in their escape, they are wanted criminals in _need _of a pardon. Surely you can see the complications if it were to be revealed that our successes over the past several years were due in large part to the infamous – and infamously executed – A-Team."

"Then it makes even less sense that you would tell them this was their last mission. And as you said, you can't take that back now. I understand why you had to involve them, but it seems an unnecessary complication to throw that into the mix."

He sighed deeply. "I am not going to explain this again."

The tone was not harsh. He sounded tired. She sighed as she glanced at the clock. Nearly ten. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Procedure says Cain 13 has twelve hours to re-establish contact. We're not going to fix this tonight."

"I know."

"Why don't you come over?"

He hesitated before quietly answering. "I might."

"You _might_?" She smiled.

Another long pause. "It will take me a few hours to finish this project. I'm afraid it would be rather late."

"That's okay. Wake me if I'm asleep."

"Very well."

"Have a good evening, Hunt."

"You as well."

She hung up the phone with a smile that quickly faded as she recalled his words. Cain 13 was missing? Surely he must be fine. He was one of their best operatives. He was just being careful, calculating the risk of contact. Either that, or perhaps the entire matter was over and he wanted to be certain that he'd properly disposed of the body before he called to report his success. After all, it wouldn't do if Smith's team discovered that the man they were searching for was, in fact, already dead.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn. The curtain, rustling in front of the open glass door that led to the back patio. Strange. Had she left that door open? She could have sworn she'd closed it. Retying her robe, she headed for the door and pulled the curtain aside slightly to look out into the back yard. Nothing moved in the darkness. Only the quiet whisper of the wind through the trees. She closed the door, and locked it, surprised that she'd left it open.

As soon as she turned, she saw him – standing in the doorway, in full view of the bright light from the living room. She gasped, startled, and jumped back as he threw something at her feet. Unable to resist, she looked at it and immediately felt sick. A clear plastic bag, a severed head. Cain 13...

"That belong to you?"

Panic. Stay calm. Years of training and scenarios warred with gut instinct. She wanted to run. Instead, she stared across the room at the intruder standing in her house, threatening her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she was more useful to him alive or dead.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying hard to keep her tone even.

"From you?" Harrison laughed as he withdrew his gun from the back of his pants and held it out in front of him. "Not a goddamn thing."

She never even heard the shot.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

"Murdock?"

Only half awake, he was aware of the soft, gentle kisses on his lips. But the warm body that belonged next to him – that had been there all night – was missing. She was leaning over him.

"Hannibal's on the phone."

It took him a second to reorient himself, blinking against the light and the strange images that that floated in the confused haze between dream and waking. Where was he? Bev was here with him, Virginia. Hannibal, phone. It came back all at once, like flipping on a light switch. Blood, Cruiser, the smell, Face trying to hide from him, shame, pain.

The relief of dreamless, much needed sleep wore off all at once and he was moving for the phone, fast, fumbling with the sheets. Had something happened? Bev was holding the receiver. He grabbed it from her wordlessly and pulled to his ear. There was a pause as he let the startling flood of emotions recede enough for him to push them down.

"Hannibal?"

"Murdock, how're you feeling?"

If it was anything serious, anything gone wrong, he wouldn't sound so casual. And he wouldn't waste time with pleasantries. Murdock let out the breath that he had been holding without realizing it.

"I'm great."

It was an automatic response more than a conscious lie. Bev sat back, curling her legs up under her on the bed as she watched him with curious concern. Ignoring her, he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand.

"What's going on?"

"Apparently, Stockwell remembered some additional information he'd like to share with us." He sounded almost amused by this. "I told him we'd meet him at the compound in an hour. Which means I'll swing by to pick you up in about forty-five minutes."

"Great," Murdock answered flatly. "I'll be ready."

"See you then, Captain."

Hannibal hung up without another word, and Bev tipped her head slightly as she studied Murdock quietly. "Everything okay?"

For the first time since he'd opened his eyes, he took a good look at her, curled up on the bed with her legs under her, an oversized T-shirt hanging off of one shoulder. She looked like she'd just woken up not too long ago. Suddenly and unexpectedly, it hit him just how beautiful she was. No makeup, no fancy clothes or hairstyle. Just real, warm flesh and blood, soft skin and mysterious eyes. Damn he really had missed her.

He dropped the cigarettes on the bed without withdrawing one. He wanted to reach out to her, just make sure she was solid and here and not some trick his mind was playing on him. He didn't fight that urge, giving himself just a few seconds to run his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, pushing her hair back from her face. She smiled as she nuzzled gently into his hand.

Almost involuntarily, the corner of his mouth twitched up into a fraction of a smile as he looked into her eyes, letting himself get lost there for a second. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulled back. The moment was over. He couldn't have this. There was too much to be done, too many things that could go wrong.

He turned and put his feet on the floor, letting the blood rush through him as he woke the rest of the way up. He had a headache. He needed water. "I gotta go."

She moved behind him, sliding her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, pulling him back against her. "He said forty-five minutes," she whispered. She leaned down and kissed his jaw, just below his ear. "I heard him. My phone is loud."

"He did. But I have to get ready."

"You can relax for a few minutes," she breathed as her teeth lightly brushed his ear.

He fought the urge to lean back into her, as well as the sudden, irrational urge to run. Images of her, open and intimate things they had done, were somehow imposed onto the memory of finding Face, his vulnerabilities torn open. Jumbled thoughts - Cruiser laughing as fireworks exploded and lying in the back of his bird surrounded by the smell of sex, blood and fear. The smell. That same laugh.

Shaking his head, Murdock pulled away from her and stood up. "No, I can't."

It was a flat, disembodied voice - distant from him and from what he was feeling. He wanted to be with her and to run away from her. He wanted to let go, but he couldn't. Not here, not with what he was feeling. There was no place that was safe for that. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

He turned and stared down at her confused expression. "I'm sorry."

Her look turned more hurt as she reached toward him and ran a hand up the side of his leg, all the way to his hip. "Why are you hiding from me?" she whispered.

He froze as her touch drifted closer to more intimate parts. Last night, he'd been drunk. He'd felt no pain, given no thought to falling into her bed without clothes on. He remembered it. He remembered that nothing had happened between that initial fall and the deep sleep that followed. He didn't even remember her crawling into bed beside him. He did remember feeling her warmth in the night. He remembered that it had felt comforting and safe.

But now, he was gripped by a strange, uncontrollable panic. There was no reason, no logic, just sudden terror as the memories flashed. Trapped. Too many of them. No way out. Nothing left but to fight and lose. He shut his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath. The smell of fear and sweat gave way to honeysuckle. Bev.

Forcing his clenched hands to remain at his sides, he took a step back. "I can't." He hated the way his voice sounded – so unsure and weak.

"You can't what?"

She stood, sliding her hands up his chest to his shoulders. Instantly, his mind was screaming at him – thoughts that entirely confused him. _No! Don't do this! It's not safe!_ But he couldn't argue with self-preservation. Taking a slow, deep breath, he forced his mind and body into submission. There was no time for him to fall apart. Or, worse, to explode. He would need that anger for when they caught Cruiser.

He took a step back from her. This time when he spoke, it was comforting to hear the cold neutrality of it. It insulated him. "I can't tell you." That was a statement of fact. The sky was blue and Murdock could tell her nothing she wanted to know. "What I can tell you is that if anyone beside the team or Suzanne shows up, run. Okay?"

Clothes. He needed clothes. Thank God he kept a spare set in her closet.

"Run?" She frowned deeply. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't listen to them and don't go with them and don't hesitate to shoot anyone who tries to make you go with them." It was not a request, and it was more than a tip. It was an order. Looking into her eyes, he asked with complete and uncharacteristic seriousness, "Do you understand?"

She watched him for a moment. Her expression went from confusion, to hurt, to nothingness. She sighed as she withdrew, and lay on her side, tucking her arms under her head and curling up slightly, on top of the blankets. He sighed as he knelt down at the side of the bed, eye level with her.

"Tell me you understand," he whispered. "Please."

She wasn't cowering. She stared at him steadily for a moment, then sighed as she reached out and touched the side of his face. "You can't tell me anything. And I get that. It has to do with the bastard you work for. I get that, too. What I don't get is why you even come here if you don't want to be with me."

A far of part of him knew that he had hurt her, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. Knowing that made him just as sick as that burning, helpless anger he had buried inside of him. She hadn't answered him, hadn't acknowledged what he had said or how fucking serious this was. Did he have a right to be angry with her for that?

For once, he didn't care. He stood and turned his back on her as he pulled out the spare clothes he kept there, dressing quickly. She never moved from the bed as he moved through the apartment - shaving, eating, and finally retrieving his coat from the balcony.

"I'm leaving," he said, poking his head into the bedroom again.

"Yeah," she answered coldly. "I got the memo."

He could hear the barb in her tone, but he didn't answer it. "I don't care if you're pissed at me, just remember what I said. It's important."

"Go fuck yourself, flyboy."

The flash of anger made his jaw twitch. What right did she have to talk like that? What the hell did she know about anger anyway? He could show her a thing or two if she kept it up...

He stopped his train of thoughts abruptly. She didn't know. That wasn't her fault. It wasn't enough to make his anger recede, but it stopped growing for the moment. "Just watch your back and keep your gun with you," he ordered. Then he was through the living room and out the door without another word, lighting a cigarette on his way out.

*X*X*X*

"What's the matter, Stockwell? Your backup plan didn't work?"

Stockwell glared daggers across the room as Hannibal entered with Murdock only a half step behind.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked innocently. But the anger in his voice was perfectly clear.

"I knew you had to have one. You always do." Hannibal met Stockwell's glare head-on. He'd been waiting for this. And he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had taken less effort on his part than he'd anticipated. "At least on those missions where you send us off without any expectation that we're going to come back."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Hannibal said firmly. He sat down and reclined, withdrawing a cigar from his pocket. "You know, I was up half the night last night trying to figure out _why_. If you really wanted Cruiser back, and I believe you did, there was absolutely no reason for you to hold back the information about just how dangerous this mission was. In fact, telling us would've given you a better chance of success. And you know that. You're not stupid. Instead, you let us walk right into a trap."

Stockwell's eyes remained dead and cold, face expressionless. After a moment, Hannibal continued. "Now I don't know _why _you expected that even with that clear advantage, Cruiser would kill all of us. Or even that he'd want to. But it's pretty clear to me that one way or another, you didn't expect us to succeed. Which means you had a backup plan. And it failed, or else you wouldn't be calling us back here."

"I did not expect that one man would kill all five of you. Or _any _of you, for that matter."

"Then perhaps you'd care to elaborate on your plan. The _truth_ this time."

Stockwell hesitated for a long moment before he finally answered. "I didn't know where Sergeant Harrison was. But I knew he would want you to be able to find him."

"So we were just bait."

"My agents have been following you from the moment you set foot in Moscow. To Bangkok, to Cairo."

Somehow, Hannibal wasn't surprised to hear that Stockwell knew about Cairo, in spite of their minimal efforts to keep him in the dark.

"While your concerns were, understandably, for your lieutenant, the agent who had been following you continued to follow Sergeant Harrison."

"So when we came back here, you knew exactly where he was," Hannibal said. "And you lied to my face when you said you were giving me the information I needed to find him because, to you, it didn't matter if we found him. You had a man on him. Who has since been killed. Didn't you learn the first three times?"

"Cain 13 was one of our best operatives."

"Yeah?" Hannibal challenged, the conversational tone suddenly gone and anger in its place. "And what the hell are we?"

Stockwell looked away, jaw set. He was angry. And as far as Hannibal was concerned, he had absolutely no right to be. Whatever had happened as a result of his games, he'd done it to himself when he left them in the dark, and relied upon the expertise of Agent Whatever-number. It was nothing short of insulting.

"Did you set him up for murder in front of a military court? Stand by and watch his execution? Or was that a privilege reserved especially for those of us who are _not _your best operatives?"

Stockwell glared at him. "I hardly 'set you up' for murder, Colonel."

Hannibal growled, eyes narrowed. "I want one thing from you. And one thing only. And that is a piece of paper with the President's signature on it that makes me a free man. But you don't have that, do you? You never did."

Stockwell didn't answer, and after a long moment of silence, Hannibal continued quietly. "It's why you didn't want us to succeed. Why you didn't want us to come back. And why when we _did _come back, you weren't going to help us with the information we needed to find him."

"It was not my intention that Harrison would harm any of you."

"Well, you sure as hell knew it was a possibility."

"I overestimated you. And misjudged Harrison's anger."

Hannibal didn't answer. Stockwell was quiet for a long moment. Finally, Murdock was the one to speak. "Why'd you call us here, Stockwell?" he said coldly.

Stockwell looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward, holding his chin in his hands. "Sergeant Harrison did not come to work for me willingly. His situation was remarkably similar to yours. He was a CIA operative when he was arrested on suspicion of murder in East Germany. At the time, it was a very high profile case. When the CIA saw the evidence against him, they washed their hands of the whole matter."

"What did he do?" Hannibal asked coldly.

Stockwell hesitated again, then continued quietly. "He tortured, mutilated, and eventually murdered twenty-seven men."

Hannibal's jaw dropped and he stared, stunned, as Stockwell reached into his briefcase and produced a thick filing folder. He set it on the table. "His confession, obtained later, also included thirteen men whom he did not mutilate. The entirety of my files on Sergeant James Harrison, for your... analysis, Colonel."

"You sure it's all of it this time?" Murdock demanded, ice cold.

"Quite." Stockwell mirrored his tone.

Hannibal left the folder where it was, eyes on Stockwell. "Why didn't you let him hang?"

"Because he was good," Stockwell said simply. "Same reason I didn't let you 'hang.' And because I needed someone who could operate under the radar. Someone capable, who didn't mind doing whatever was necessary. And someone who had nothing to lose. I knew he would never question his orders, and he never did. Just like you."

"Just like us," Hannibal repeated. "Meaning if he had ever failed, you would've thrown him to the dogs."

"I didn't fabricate his crimes any more than I fabricated yours."

"But you _did _fabricate ours," Murdock shot back.

"No, I merely sought out a very clean way to bring them to light in a timing that worked best for me. Much like I did with Sergeant Harrison. If I withdrew my protection, it would only mean that justice was served."

Hannibal glared. Somehow, it didn't surprise him in the least to hear that Stockwell had tried these manipulative tactics before he'd used them on the team. He didn't like it, but there was so much about this entire situation that he didn't like, he couldn't even keep it straight anymore.

"So what were you expecting to happen when we found him?" Hannibal asked again.

"I didn't expect that he wanted to do you harm," Stockwell said firmly. "I was not aware that he had found out about your employment with me until Cain 16 called me. I assumed that it was _me_ he was angry with, and that he would attempt to use you as an escape plan."

"Escape plan?" Hannibal was staring at him as if he'd just grown another head.

Stockwell smiled faintly. "Colonel, if I had been right, and he had met with you to tell you that I was blackmailing him, you cannot tell me that you would have brought him to me in chains. You would've taken him anywhere but here. Like to Egypt."

"At which point, your other agent who was following him would've gotten him anyways, but we would've failed."

"And all deals would be off."

Hannibal's jaw set with anger. "So why are you telling us this now?"

"Because last night, your target murdered Empress Two – whom you know as Carla – in her home."

"Well, that's damn unfortunate," Murdock said coldly.

Stockwell's eyes grew black and cold as he spoke the words. "I _will _have him brought to me. Alive."

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, then gave a brief, cynical laugh. "So, like I said. Your backup plan failed."


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

There was just enough space in the cramped room to wedge the table between the bed and the window. Murdock was on the window ledge, cigarette in hand, watching quietly. With the bed raised so he could sit up, Face was turned on his side, looking down at the table. Jessica was cross legged on the bed with her own cigarette and a worried expression.

"Just so you're all aware," Hannibal said as he dropped the folder into the middle of the table, where they could all see it, "Stockwell is sitting in his jet at the airport, ready to move whenever and wherever we suggest."

"That's supposed to be comforting?" Face asked, distaste clear in his voice.

"This may be the first time that Stockwell is feeling truly cooperative."

"What brought that on?"

"Carla's death."

"She dead?" BA asked. "How?"

"Shot twice in the chest and once in the head. No doubt that it's Cruiser's work."

Face frowned deeply at that, but didn't answer.

Hannibal continued after only a brief pause. "These are his files – he says, all of them – on Cruiser."

BA stared at the thick folder with wide eyes. Face barely looked at it. Jessica didn't look surprised; she looked afraid. She was staring at the folder like Cruiser himself might appear out of it.

"Stockwell got all this on Cruiser?" BA finally said as shock turned to anger.

"Stockwell collects information the way some people collect art," Hannibal answered. "We all know this."

"We also know that file is only going to have the information Stockwell thinks we need," Face said coldly.

"Actually," Hannibal said, "if you want my gut, I don't think he's holding back. Carla's unfortunate death was a bit of a wakeup call for him. He needs us if he wants Cruiser. And I promise you, at this point, he does want Cruiser."

"Who's Carla?" Jessica asked.

"Carla is Stockwell's assistant. Apparently, he had another agent following Cruiser. The morning after we arrived back in Virginia, that agent's head was found with Carla's body."

Jessica hid her face. "Oh, God."

"It's personal for him now," Hannibal concluded.

"He left a head?" BA growled. "He ain't right."

Face held out a hand, palm up to Jessica, and moved back a little. "Come here."

She said nothing as she moved around the bed, then lay down in front of him with her back to his chest, making herself as small as possible as Face put an arm protectively around her.

"Cruiser hasn't been right for a while," Hannibal said. "He wasn't lying when he said he'd made a deal with Stockwell. Only his deal involved more than two dozen men he murdered while operating as a CIA agent in East Germany."

Jessica's eyes widened. "Two _dozen_?"

"That was the 'little trouble' he ran into, where people died."

"There's a difference between killin' people for business and doin' it for fun," BA said flatly. "Which was these?"

Hannibal shook his head as he chewed on his cigar. "It wasn't business. Once the CIA found out about it, they put out a burn notice on him within the hour. Stockwell had an eye on him already, and when he ended up in prison, he offered a deal."

Hannibal leaned back on the wall behind him, arms crossed. "The interesting thing is," he continued, "Cruiser copped to almost forty kills, thirteen years ago. Stockwell's files record almost seventy, and a fair number of them are dated _after_ he was working for him."

"You're saying Stockwell knew he was still murdering people," Face said quietly. "And he allowed it."

Hannibal shrugged. "Allowed it, endorsed it - it's a fine line. In any case, he's got enough detailed information to put Cruiser in a hole no matter what jury he's up against. If he wants to."

"He's a perfect fit for Stockwell," Murdock said. Hannibal turned to glance at him, and saw him staring out the window into space. "No moral complication with killing whoever Stockwell says, and there is nowhere he can run where he's not wanted."

"So why'd Stockwell try and get him outta Russia?" BA asked. "Why not let him rot there?"

"He knew Cruiser wanted us. He says he didn't suspect that he wanted us for harm, but I'm not sure I buy that. Even with as forthcoming as he's being now, I can't take anything that comes out of his mouth at face value."

"Cruiser still had value," Murdock continued, his voice distant and cold. "Stockwell figured he was a damn good way to get rid of us. He figured we'd never turn over a former team member."

"That's not all of it," Hannibal said. "Because if disposing of us was the only thing Stockwell was interested in, he would've had a dozen other ways he could've done it. But I know that's part of it."

"Way it looks right now," BA said solemnly, "Stockwell never had those pardons to give us."

Hannibal didn't pause long to let that settle in. "What Stockwell did or didn't have planned regarding those pardons - or even us in general - doesn't matter all that much. Far more important is the question of what all of that," he gestured to the open folder, "means to us now. Because we have a lot more information now than we did before, but no better direction. We have a trail that's already cold, and no idea where he's headed besides what those files and our gut tells us."

"He said he'd be back," Face said softly.

Hannibal turned and looked at him steadily. Jessica curled tighter against him, like she was trying to shield him. She was scared as hell; it was written all over her. But there was also a strange sort of determination in her eyes, and in the way she pressed into Face. Good. She was going to need every ounce of strength and determination she had.

"He will be back, Hannibal," Face continued. "He hasn't come here, and I don't know why. Especially if he was in the neighborhood. But he _will _come eventually."

"The question is, _how_ eventually. Days? Weeks? Months?"

"I'm going to need a few weeks to fully recover anyways, Hannibal. I said I'm in for this, but there's no way I've got the energy to chase him all over the globe. I'm still having a hard time walking."

"And not completely off the painkillers," Jessica added.

"We gotta get someplace safe, Hannibal," BA said. "Go through what we know. Get strong again. Someplace we ain't gotta feel like we runnin'."

"Where do you that's safe from a monster?" Jess whispered.

"Someplace safe," Hannibal agreed, "but more importantly, _controlled_. Once we have a fix on where he is, we can set a trap. But we don't want him going around our defenses."

"Finding him before he finds us, so that we can _set_ that trap, may be harder. Because even if he's intending to come back, he probably isn't going to do it until he figures he's strong enough to go around us."

"They're all blondes."

The statement from Murdock was so far out of left field, Hannibal stopped and stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out how it fit. "What?"

Murdock turned and locked eyes with him for a moment, then crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray as he moved away from the window and grabbed the file folder. Jess and Face sat up as he opened it – the center of attention – and Hannibal watched as he pulled out the photos of Cruiser's victims and arranged them on the table. He had a total of twenty reports on the table when he stopped- eight on one side, twelve on the other. The eight on the right were gruesome enough to make Jess turn her head away.

"These twelve, he killed quick, efficient and impersonal," Murdock said. "Most of them a .22 cal bullet to the back of the head. Professional. But these other eight, he mutilated and raped. He spent time with them. Hours. Using different types of torture and different ways of killing them. What do you see that all of these victims had in common?"

Hannibal looked at the photos again, more carefully scrutinizing them. "They're all blonde with blue eyes," he said quietly. "And their faces have all been carved up."

"They all look like Face," Jessica whispered weakly.

Hannibal frowned deeply, but didn't speak. What were the chances that Stockwell hadn't seen that coincidence when he was compiling this information? The thought made his blood boil.

"Cruiser was setting us up right alongside Stockwell," Face said softly. "They both thought they were in charge."

"If that's the case," Hannibal said, setting the photo in his hands back down, "then our first step involves figuring out who's running what game with what objective. If Cruiser was playing Stockwell... he may or may not think he's still in control."

The knock on the door startled them all. Pistols out, adrenaline pounding, they all turned to look as Hannibal moved to it and checked through the peep hole before finally exhaling and putting his gun away.

"It's alright."

The tension subsided. Hannibal pulled the door open and greeted the woman standing outside with calm professionalism. "Suzanne."

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

"We haven't been back for very long," Hannibal said gesturing for her to come inside. "And I didn't figure it would take very long for Stockwell to inform you himself."

Suzanne's eyes lingered on Face for a long moment. The shock at his condition - most noticeably the wound over the entire side of his face - was quickly masked by a tight smile. "I heard you'd had a rough couple of weeks."

"You could say that," he answered flatly.

"I brought you some of your things. Clothes, some personal items. I hope you all don't mind that I went rummaging through your closets to get you clothes, but I figured you might want them."

Face lowered his gaze. "Yes. Thank you."

"How'd you find us?" BA demanded.

Suzanne looked up at him, then at Hannibal. "Stockwell knows exactly where you are. He sent me."

Hannibal shut his eyes, sighing. If Stockwell could find them that quickly and easily, so could Cruiser. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that everyone in the room had made the very same assessment. They were waiting now to hear what he intended to do about it.

"We need a place that's more easily defendable," he said quietly. "Someplace where hiding isn't our only line of defense."

*X*X*X*

Jess didn't allow herself to think about those photos. But she couldn't completely forget them either. All those men - some of them just boys, no older than James - murdered, beaten, tortured. It made her stomach tighten in fear and roll with the sickness of it all.

But as long as she kept focused on Face, none of the worry, fear or anger could break through. She was a trained medical professional; she knew how to separate her feelings out from what her patients (and in this case, the people she loved) needed to heal. But the walk from the car to the plane – alone on the tarmac, right where Hannibal had said it would be – made her anger simmer low.

She walked slowly on Face's right. BA was on his left, ready to take his weight if his strength gave out. Even two weeks later, he was still suffering from the effects of weakness and blood loss. She knew how tired he was, even if he was trying to be stubborn, refusing to show it.

And all of this was because of that sick monster and the man who had set him loose and let him run through the world, killing and butchering.

Three men with guns met them as soon as they approached the jet, but they quickly stepped aside as Hannibal led his team up the steps. Stockwell was on his feet as they entered the room.

"The elusive Jessica Summers." Stockwell's tone was perfectly casual as he eyed her up and down. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you without any, shall we say, false pretenses."

She was fairly certain she could have contained her anger and kept a level head if it hadn't been for that mocking, arrogant tone in the man's voice. Slipping her arm from around Face, she turned to Stockwell, took one step forward, and delivered a solid, hard, right hook against his jaw, hissing through her teeth at him.

"You son of a bitch. I hope you burn in hell."

Hannibal was completely calm as he stepped forward and put an arm between them, pushing Jessica back gently but firmly. "I guess introductions are not necessary," he said, his voice perfectly calm.

As Stockwell stood rubbing his jaw and staring at her in surprise, Hannibal shot her a look. She hardly knew the man, but something in that look stopped any urge she might have had to argue with his clear directive to stand down. She stepped back, turning her attention to Face instead. A quick glance assured her he was just exhausted from the effort of moving so much after having been in bed for so long.

"You have access to the criminal and police files in foreign countries," Hannibal said to Stockwell. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he answered simply, flicking a gaze back in Jessica's direction.

"I want to know how many blond-haired, blue-eyed men he's killed. Given his very _clear _signature, it shouldn't be that hard to figure out which ones are his."

Stockwell hesitated for a moment. "That's going to take some time."

"We'll wait."

Standing beside Face's chair, Jessica put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, her eyes widening a little at the realization that her knuckles were sore. In all of his 'how to protect yourself from the crazies in the VA' demonstrations, Murdock had failed to mention how much hitting a person could actually hurt.

"In the meantime, you've got that compound fully equipped with the finest technology money can buy, and yet you've never had a chance to use it."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well, since your manned security leaves something to be desired, you're going to turn that technology over to us."

Watching Hannibal talk to Stockwell was fascinating. Stockwell was the one technically in charge, but Hannibal seemed to be the one in control.

"Colonel, you don't really think that _anyone _would try to attack my compound."

"He killed your second in command," BA pointed out. "He can try your compound."

"I think if we bide our time, he'll be back," Hannibal said solemnly. "He'll want to finish what he's started. And in the meantime, we need a place that's at least marginally safer than a motel room while we regroup, recover, and bury our dead teammate just as soon as you follow up on that request that I know you've already filed with the authorities to have his body sent here."

Jessica's eyes were locked on Hannibal. The tone he ended in was almost vicious, definitely accusatory. Even Stockwell shrunk back slightly.

"His body was delivered this morning," Stockwell said solemnly. "Funeral preparations have been made to bury him beside his father."

"No," Face said quietly, but no less firm for the volume. He looked up and met Stockwell's stare. "That's not what he wanted."

Stockwell hesitated briefly. "If you would prefer to see to the arrangements yourself, you are more than welcome to do so."

"We will," Hannibal said. "And then I'll be having a talk with your security teams."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"He's not dead."

Cruiser raised a brow as he studied the man seated across from him. "I know that."

"Okay. So did I miss a step in this plan, then? I thought you were gonna kill him."

Cruiser threw back the second of three shots he had lined up in front of him and motioned for the waitress to bring more. He waited until she'd turned back to the bar to answer.

"There was a change of plans," he said simply.

The man gave a snort of laughter. "You fucking shittin' me? That colonel is gonna be all over your fuckin' ass and you didn't even _kill _the guy?"

Cruiser had known Matt Sampson for more than a decade. He was something of an asset and something of a friend – one worth keeping around. They had similar interests in different veins, and had ended up with a mutually beneficial relationship. This time, with Peck still alive and Matt at his disposal, Cruiser was the one who was going to be benefitting more.

Cruiser ran his finger along the now empty shot glass. His concern now was not what hadn't gone right. Enough of it had worked. At least, enough to put a smile on his face. His mind drifted back to the blood, the hot, metallic smell and feel of it as he opened up the flesh. The helplessness of the man he'd chased down for so long. He'd waited years to taste that satisfaction. And it had been every bit as satisfying as he'd hoped.

In the end, it seemed fate had smile on him. He hadn't killed Peck, but that was alright. He would. And when he did, he would get to slice open that unbroken skin all over again. That first cut was always the most satisfying...

"So what's the plan now?" Matt's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Why'd you call me here, anyways?"

Cruiser glanced up as the waitress approached with more drinks. He waited for her to set them down and leave again before he continued. "Like you said, Smith is going to be up my ass with a vengeance. I need to know what he's up to."

"Hell if I know. He's gotta bury that spic, I know that. Whole team took off in Stockwell's jet after you killed Carla. Which has Stockwell all sorts of pissed off, by the way."

"I couldn't give a fuck about Stockwell."

"He tracks you down, he'll kill you real slow."

Cruiser smirked. "Would love to see him try."

It was an interesting thought on many levels. He knew what it felt like to kill. What would it feel like to die? He could feel the alcohol taking affect as he absently wondered whether he would prefer a slow death or a quick one. At some point or another, everybody died.

"Where'd they go?" he asked, redirecting his thoughts. He needed a starting point at the very least. From there he could figure out how to play the field.

"Beats me. Why the hell would they tell me that?"

Cruiser picked up the shot glass and threw it back, savoring the burn as he swallowed it. "Didn't figure they told you. Was just asking what you knew."

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say they went back to Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles, huh?" That was his guess, too. It was one of two places Santana had ever lived - the other being Puerto Rico - and it made sense that he'd want to be buried there. Once that bit of sentimentality was over and done with, they would do one of two things. They would either hole up and lick their wounds some more, or they would come after him. He needed to know which it would be. Not only so that he could avoid Hannibal - at least until later, after he did kill Face - but to operate around him.

"Any word on how Lieutenant Peck's doing?"

Matt threw back his last shot. "Seems pretty good, I'd say. He walks and talks. That's gonna be a hell of a scar on his face, though."

Cruiser smiled to himself. Of course it would. That was exactly the way he wanted it.

"Hannibal may be looking for a way to put me on the defense," Cruiser said, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. "Which means he'll be doing all he can to find me."

"Let him." The man seated across from him threw back another shot. "He puts you on the defense, means he's meeting you on your turf."

Cruiser shook his head. "If he shows up on my doorstep, he shows up with a plan. And that's something I want to avoid." He took another long drag, and flicked his ashes on the floor of the bar. "The only way to hit Hannibal is to break up his team in a way or time or place he's not prepared for."

"What did you have in mind?"

They would be going back to Virginia. There was no question about that. Stockwell wouldn't want them so far out of sight, and Hannibal wouldn't split them up. Especially when one of them was hurt. They'd still be down for a while. But Hannibal would be planning. And Cruiser would have to do something about that.

Cruiser smiled at the thought of playing cat-and-mouse with a whole team full of targets. But one thing at a time. First, he needed to deal with the most important kill – the one he'd been anticipating for over fifteen years. More than that, he needed to wipe that man's name off the face of the earth.

Cruiser picked up the last of his shots and tossed it back before getting up to leave. "Don't call me, I'll call you," he ordered. "But be ready. I'm not about to give Hannibal Smith the chance to plan my death."

*X*X*X*

Murdock had never been good at funerals. He'd been to a few. Really, when he thought about it, he'd seen more of death itself than funerals. But he understood. It wasn't about closure, or saying goodbye. No funeral he'd ever been to had brought anything remotely close to closure. It was about respect - fulfilling the last wishes of the dead or, if they hadn't made their wishes known, giving them the best, most peaceful resting place possible. It wasn't about the person who'd died. It was about the people who were still alive, and their last opportunity to say that they loved and honored that person.

He'd settled this long ago.

Frankie had made his wishes known. The team had flown two thousand miles, to a beach on the Pacific Ocean, to fulfill them. Sitting on the sand with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, Murdock stared out at the vast expanse of the ocean. Just like the sky, it seemed to go on forever. The sight, the sound of the seagulls, the smell and taste of the salt, the feel of the warm sun on his skin... it was all familiar and comforting.

Mentally and emotionally exhausted, and feeling inexplicably calm, he was almost napping when he heard the footsteps behind him. Face didn't say a word as he sat down next to him on the sand - careful of his injuries and the difficulty he was going to have in getting up.

Several long minutes passed in silence before Face finally spoke, low and remorseful. "You know, I didn't hear a thing."

Murdock sighed. The thing with Face was, no matter how much of a role he'd actually played in Frankie's death, and no matter what anyone said, he would feel guilty. Murdock could understand that. He couldn't even imagine what he would be feeling, in Face's shoes. To know that he was there in the room, that if he'd just opened his eyes, if he'd just slept a little bit lighter, it could all be different. The guilt would be immense. And Face had never handled guilt very well.

Face wasn't half as shallow as he wanted the world to believe. In fact, he was just the opposite. Everything he felt, he felt it deeply. Right now, it was a challenge they all faced to keep him from being overcome with the feelings of guilt.

Frankie had been one of them. Four years working alongside him, in life and death situations... Hell, that was longer than they'd known Ray. And unlike the rest of them, unlike anyone Murdock had ever served alongside, Frankie didn't have a choice in the matter. He'd been dragged into it, thanks to Stockwell's pathological need to be a prick.

However uncomfortable it had been in those first few weeks, Frankie had eventually found his place on the team. He hadn't bitched about how unfair it all was. He left his family and did his damndest to have the team's backs. And all it got him in the end was a messy death in a cheap motel room, at the hands of someone they had all trusted once. Frankie had deserved a hell of a lot better.

Murdock took a moment just to look at Face, redirecting his thoughts. Jeans and a white T-shirt, unshaven and hair messed up, deep red lines on his arms and the whole right side of his face. The scars were still so fresh, they stood out in sharp contrast against his pale skin. It was at once every bit of the man Murdock knew, and none of him. Face had always worn his scars on the inside. He'd been no less scarred, before all of this. But he'd hid it better. The feeling of exposure - to Face, of all people - would be pure hell.

But still, he was Face. And somehow Face had always seemed more alive, more solid when he was on a beach. Surf, sand, sun were all things that he loved. Like beautiful women and fine wine. They were things that he appreciated for the works of art they were. Whether they were the masterful artistry of a man or of God, he recognized the beauty in art.

_ "Holy Mary, Mother of God..."_

_ "It's okay, Face." Murdock let off the pressure on the towel just long enough to run a hand over Face's bloody, matted hair._

_ "P__ray for us sinners now..."_

_ "It's okay.__"_

_ Face shuddered as he closed his eyes, curling up tighter. "And at the hour of death."_

Murdock looked away from the man sitting beside him. No matter how much he wanted to think that the man sitting beside him really was as peaceful as he looked, he knew the truth. Peace was something they couldn't have right now. LA - home - was another thing that was out of their grasp. This was a mirage, an illusion. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Not now.

"I should've heard him," Face said quietly.

"Nobody could've heard him," Murdock answered. "You saw what the sappers could do. You think he was any less prepared than they were?"

Comparing Cruiser to the sappers felt accurate. Except, of course, this attack wasn't from the VC. It was by someone who used to be one of them. What in the hell had happened to make Cruiser go off the deep end like this? Thousands of different scenarios had played out in his mind, but none of them made sense. None of them went that deep - deep enough to change the very core of a man. The man Murdock remembered would never do a thing like this to his own team. What had happened to him?

Pushing his hat back, Murdock took a deep breath of the salty air. Face was hunched forward, holding his head in his hands. Finally, he looked up at the ocean again, speaking into his hands. "I need a cigarette."

Murdock reached into his pocket, lit a cigarette, then held it out to Face.

_Guilt over the fact that his nightmare had woken everyone in the barracks had driven Murdock outside. Confusion over the dark place he'd seen in that nightmare had driven him into the conversation with a man who wasn't really there. He wasn't expecting Face's voice to interrupt Alan's. _

_ "Who are you talking to, Murdock?"_

_ Murdock shook his head and glanced over to where the ghost of his brother had been a moment before. The space was empty now. "No one. Just myself."_

_ As he sat down, Face leaned down to pick up two cigarettes that had fallen from Murdock's shaking hands. Lighting the first one, he passed it to Murdock before lighting his own. _

Murdock took his own drag. So many questions, memories, thoughts... and no place to go with them. He had to ask, he had to know. But how was he supposed to ask when he didn't even undersand the question? And how was Face supposed to respond when he was so... broken?

"You gonna be okay, Face?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Face was too exhausted to be anything but frank. So was Murdock. "You could spend some time at the VA, drooling and staring at the walls. Worked for me."

It wasn't quite sarcasm.

Face didn't answer. He wasn't okay right now. None of them were, really. He was moving, functioning, even smiling when he had to. But he had always been good at that. Right now, he simply stared out at the calm, peaceful ocean. It was hard to tell - even with Murdock's well trained eye - whether he was lost in thought or a complete blank. There was emptiness in his eyes, jaw set, just staring.

It was a look Murdock knew and understood all too well. He understood it in ways he didn't want to. The still frame images had become a movie, a horror film, with crucial parts missing. He still didn't know why. What had he done, what act of treason had he committed, what line had he crossed with Cruiser? Given everything he remembered, every sickening detail, just how bad was it that his mind still insisted he keep it buried?

Hannibal's little talk on the plane hadn't helped much. He left it all on Face to guard another one of Murdock's secrets. And damn it, Murdock wanted to know. He needed to know, to get all the pieces to fit, to makes some kind of sense out of this. He could live with the guilt and the blame of what he had caused if he could just figure out why. And right now the only person who could tell him was dealing with his own hell, trying to gather up the parts of himself and put them back together somehow.

One glance at face and he knew, he couldn't do it. He couldn't ask Face to go back and revisit those memories of Vietnam. Not now. Maybe not ever. Cigarette in his lips, Murdock slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out the flask. He took a deep pull from it and offered it to Face, waiting for his response. Face glanced at it, but shook his head as he looked away. It was just as well. Murdock had bought enough time to hide his emotions away, and be the friend Face had earned in blood.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

Face stood at the window with one hand on the frame, the other holding a cigarette that was quickly burning itself out. His eyes were out of focus, staring at the night outside, the calm of the Virginia night, snow softly falling over the silent backyard. He heard the bathroom door open behind him, and glanced over his shoulder as Jessica stepped into room a few seconds later, toweling her hair dry. His eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to stare out the window again.

It seemed wrong to see her here, in this room that he'd considered a prison for so long. At the moment, it was a prison of his choosing, and had been for the past two weeks. It was "safe" – or, at least, as safe as they could make it. Stockwell had bumped up security – doubled it, in fact. More importantly, Hannibal was playing an active part in security now. The team switched off in the monitoring room, watching the cameras and listening to the audio devices all over the house. For his part, Face was just supposed to "recover." Essentially, that meant "do nothing." Bored and anxious and helpless and worthless as an asset to the team, he was more a prisoner now than he'd been in a long time. A prisoner in his own skin...

He heard Jessica approach, and he didn't flinch as she slid her arms around him, pressing against his back in the soft white robe as she set her chin on his shoulder. "What are you thinking?" she whispered, turning her head to kiss his neck as she locked hand over wrist on his stomach, above the wound there that was a constant reminder of his ordeal. Though, really, it wasn't half the reminder that the one on his cheek was, every time he looked in the mirror or touched his face.

He sighed, and took a long drag off the cigarette before putting it out. "A lot of things," he said quietly. "Nothing. I don't even know anymore."

She hugged him tighter. "You should get some sleep. It's almost one in the morning."

"I'm not tired."

"Will you at least come lie down with me?"

His eyes narrowed. "I've been doing nothing but lying down for weeks now." He realized the harsh tone immediately, and dropped his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She released him, and reached for the whiskey bottle, studying it for a moment. "You're not going to drown in this, are you?"

He considered it for a long moment, and finally sighed. "Yes. But just for tonight."

"You promise?"

He turned his head to catch her eye. "I just need to make it go away for a while."

"I understand that." She set the bottle back down, and hugged him again. Normally, he avoided the bottle. But right now, he needed it. He needed it to make him numb, just for a few hours. And he was glad she understood.

"You come to bed whenever you're ready," she whispered. "But I'm tired, so I'm going to lie down."

He nodded, and let his eyes slide closed as he felt her kiss his neck once more, then slowly withdraw the warmth of her body. The cold nearly made him shiver, and the instinct to follow her was overwhelming. But he resisted, remaining at the window. He watched her reflection on the glass as she shed the robe and crawled naked beneath the blankets.

He wanted to _do _something. That thought echoed in his mind as he poured another shot of Jack Daniels. He was restless and broken and the fact that he knew it made it that much worse. Waiting with that sinking feeling of dread for the moment when Cruiser would make a move was unnerving. But they didn't know where to look for him. And this time, he knew they were looking. Without a heading, they would be spinning their wheels. They had to wait for him to make a move.

In the meantime, he felt like a caged rat. The constant surveillance and the eyes on him didn't bother him – at least not in principle – when he knew it was the team. But he didn't want to be watched; he wanted to find Cruiser. Not that he had any desire to see Cruiser again, because he could think of many things he'd rather do. But he wanted this to be over. The waiting was always the hard part. Especially when he was slowly realizing that he wasn't waiting for Hannibal to come up with a plan so much as waiting for the enemy to make a move.

Closing his eyes, he threw the shot back, then let his forehead rest against the cold windowpane. He lit another cigarette. Spent a few minutes more minutes in the lingering silence. Poured another shot. He wanted a glass of wine. But it was all the way in the other room. Here, he had the whiskey. And it would have to do. One thing was for damn sure: he wasn't leaving this room in search of a bottle of wine. Even the thought of that effort was entirely not worth it.

Stockwell had his feelers out. They'd always known he had agents all over the world. That network should have proven more useful than it was. With access to the murder cases of various governments where Cruiser had been stationed, they continued to turn up new cases that were quite possibly connected to him. Most recently, there was a murder in a New York City hotel that matched Cruiser's MO verbatim.

Stockwell had managed to get a lead on Cruiser twice. But in both cases, he was long gone before they could mobilize. Once, he was in Montreal, Canada. The second possible sighting, just this afternoon, was somewhere in Spain. If it was him, he was moving further from them, not closer. Hannibal was working on a plan for how they would move at the next sighting.

It was odd to see the joint effort of Hannibal and Stockwell. They both wanted Cruiser. As far as Face was concerned, they could have him. He didn't care what happened to Cruiser. He just wanted this to be over. All of it. He sighed deeply. Cruiser's fate would most likely come down to who locked eyes with him first. Maybe Stockwell didn't know it yet – or maybe he did – but if the team got their hands on Cruiser, chances were pretty slim that they'd actually turn him over. Face knew it. He knew it in spite of the fact that Hannibal said otherwise. He knew that look that came into BA's eyes and, maybe even more, into Murdock's. And he knew that Hannibal saw it too. Whether or not Hannibal would – or could – pull the trigger on a former member of his team, he'd never stand in the way of either of them. He'd stand behind them 110 percent, against Stockwell and anyone else who would challenge their authority to euthanize the son of a bitch.

Face took another slow drag.

Stockwell probably knew it. He was probably off in his jet at this very moment, plotting whatever sick and twisted plans he had for them when this was all said and done. Not that they would be here for it; Face was through and he was pretty sure the entire team shared that sentiment. There was only one way for this to end: in bloodshed and defiance. Who won and who lost was a matter to be determined at a later date.

It was sort of ironic, really, that in the end, Stockwell's manipulation had cost Carla her life. Not that Carla was innocent, but it was certainly nothing she'd done herself that had gotten her killed. It would be nice to think Stockwell might have learned something from that, but Face wasn't counting on it. Whatever deep sense of personal loss he felt right now, he'd be over it soon.

He probably did feel some. Face wouldn't have been at all surprised to find that he was fucking her. His sudden willingness to "come clean" in order to bring Cruiser to justice seemed to support that theory. But the first chance he got to revert back to the safety of the lies, he'd do it. Face understood it. He probably understood the safety of lies better than Stockwell did. But nobody needed to know that.

He shut his eyes as he threw another shot back and leaned on the window frame. He was drunk. He could feel it. Part of him was concerned. Drowning himself in liquor wasn't going to solve anything. He knew it. But Hannibal had known it, too, when he got the bottle Face had asked for. And Jess knew it when she'd left him to it. And they both understood. He just needed one night. Just a few hours of peace. One night to sleep - how was it that he had spent so much time lying in bed and was still so damn tired? - and he'd pick himself back up gain.

He wouldn't buy another bottle. Even if he didn't trust his own resolve - because damn if it didn't feel good to just let that confusion wash away his memories and worries - he trusted the people around him to hold him accountable. They'd let him hide inside of the bottle tonight. But they wouldn't let him drown. And he didn't want to. It wouldn't solve anything.

He consoled himself with that thought as he poured another shot.

It felt... safe. He felt safe. Whether that was because his team was around him, protecting him, or because he was just too damn drunk to perceive a threat, he didn't know. Nor did he care. The one made the other okay. The swirling thoughts and inability to make things come together served as a blanket to cover up the dark things underneath. The things he wanted to bury. The things he couldn't bury. The last time he'd felt so disconnected...

Shit. He recognized where his brain was going with this, and he couldn't stop it. Back to that disoriented feeling. Back to the drugs that had been more effective than liquor at disconnecting him. Confusion and fear. And the voice of a man he'd once called "friend." A man who'd broken him.

_What are you going to do, cry rape?_

In some sense, he'd brought this on himself. He knew that. He felt it, with a deep and unending guilt and shame that he couldn't quite justify. The fact that there was still some disconnected part of himself that didn't believe it didn't mean it was any less true. The fact that he was drunk - he was drunk; the inability to focus his eyes told him that - didn't make it any more true. He didn't know what he believed anymore. And he didn't care.

That was the beauty of this security blanket. It covered everything up so nicely. The pain, the fear, the memories... all of it. He knew it was there, but he couldn't see it. Couldn't feel it. It wasn't a part of him. He was somewhere else. Floating. Somewhere far away. Somewhere safe.

Light another cigarette. How many had he had? Didn't matter. The cigarettes weren't doing half as much to disconnect him as the liquor was, and he was halfway through the bottle already. He hadn't had more than a single glass of anything this hard in a long time. Social behavior, never with the intention of disconnecting. He shouldn't disconnect. It was a false sense of security. I was only going to hurt in the end.

He didn't want another cigarette. He wanted a cigar. He could go get one from Hannibal. Shit, it was two o'clock in the morning. Maybe not. Hannibal would be up – or at least he'd wake up at the sound of the knock - but he didn't want to explain the drunkenness.

He was definitely drunk. He felt a flicker of fear as he tried to sit down and almost couldn't find the chair. He couldn't defend himself right now. That should bring more than a flicker of fear. It should be downright terrifying. But the team was here. The woman in the bed was here. Jessica. He was safe.

He stared at her for a long moment. She was asleep. Eyes closed and breathing deeply. Naked beneath that sheet. The anger that rushed through him all of a sudden was unexpected, and it confused the hell out of him. That man had hurt her. He'd hurt her in ways nobody would ever know. Face knew, but he wasn't about to tell. Those secrets would go down to the grave with him. He'd never betray her. He'd never tell what that man had done to her.

He wanted to kill him. In some basic, primal sense of the word, he wanted to destroy him. To make him pay for what he'd done. Just like Thanh Dai. Those memories seared him as they came back. The blood on his hands, hot and sticky. God damn, that had felt so good. How good would it feel to experience that again? This man who'd stolen so much from him, and from the woman he loved. He wanted to taste that revenge. He wanted to feel it in every corner of his body. Wanted to destroy him in the same way Cruiser had sought to destroy him.

But Cruiser was in those same memories he had of Thanh Dai. He was a friend, not a monster. Who was this man who'd done this? Surely it wasn't Cruiser. Cruiser was the man who'd saved his life, who'd risked his own neck to do it. Cruiser was the man who'd tended to a Montagnard village full of dead and wounded with a kid on his back - a kid he'd pulled out of a burning hut. Cruiser was the man who'd stood with him in a stockade cell and told him that if he couldn't trust Hannibal, he was out of his mind. That was Cruiser. Whoever had been responsible for all of this, he didn't know who that man was.

Another shot. Another cigarette. Every time he moved his hands, Face felt off balance. He was fine if he just stayed still. He could even convince himself that nothing was wrong. Nothing felt wrong. Nothing felt good, either, but at least it didn't hurt. But hell, he didn't need liquor for that. He'd shut off his feeling long ago. He'd shut them off the moment Cruiser - not Cruiser; the man who looked like Cruiser - had pinned him down. He'd felt nothing, just a constant state of awareness and panic and natural responses. Fear and self-preservation. Nothing more, nothing less.

He was drunk. God, was he drunk. His thoughts were rambling and he couldn't shut them off. He didn't want to. Maybe if he just let them go they'd work their way out of all this mess. He looked at the clock. Three a.m. Another shot. Another cigarette. The bottle was nearly gone. Every time he turned his head, he felt like he was going to fall out of the chair. Disconnected. His head didn't set quite right on his neck. He needed more than this.

Maybe he had it wrong. He didn't need the liquor to take it away. He needed something to make him _feel _again. Something real. Something not pain. Burying the pain in a haze of liquor and cigarettes - he lit another one - wasn't going to help. It wasn't going to take away the memories. It wasn't going to take away the sense of being stripped and vulnerable and on display.

He could feel the pain in his body, the memory of the brutalization. He could feel the violation. The stripping. He hated it. He was _not _that weak. The anger hit him full force this time. Another shot. Throw it back. He couldn't even find a logical place for it to vent. He felt it everywhere, for everything. He was _not _that weak. Self preservation - what did that mean anyway? He didn't care about that! He went through every goddamn day dodging bullets and saving lives of people he didn't give a damn about one way or the other. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn't care. They could all die. All burn in hell for all he cared.

But then he looked again at the woman in the bed. He should feel something for her, he knew. And he _did _feel something for her. Didn't he? Right now all he felt was confusion and anger. But she was here in the midst of that and he didn't feel threatened by her. That meant she was important. That meant she was necessary. Maybe it meant he loved her.

Nothing made sense. He was gone. The woman on the bed was Jessica and of course he loved her. She was different front the others. She was real. She knew him and touched him in ways no one else could. He wanted her. Loved her. Trusted her. He could never forget that. And that man had violated her. Cyclical, these thoughts. The anger surfaced again. The desperation. The feelings of hopelessness. Helplessness. He couldn't save her. He couldn't even save himself.

Another cigarette. The pack was empty. God damn it, Hannibal would want him awake in the morning. He was too drunk to care. He felt sick. The bottle was empty. He drained the very last of it. The desperation washed over him. All gone. The safety and warmth of the blanket was all gone now. There was nothing left. His stomach flopped. He was going to be sick.

Stand up, don't fall down - the room was spinning - stumble to the bathroom and fall on the floor. Empty all of the alcohol - it burned even more when it was mixed with stomach acid. Clutching the bowl in front of him he laid his head down on the cool porcelain and let the tears come. Afraid and ashamed and lost and confused, he wept until the tears wouldn't come anymore, then slid down to lay on the tile floor. Curled in a ball, he wished for Jessica's touch as he drifted out of consciousness and slowly receded into the welcoming blackness.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

"You've been avoiding me."

If Hannibal was startled by the voice, he didn't show it. He didn't even look up. Sitting on the couch in the pool house – he'd always preferred to come here to be alone, even now that Murdock was living here – he looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him.

With a sigh, she closed and locked the door behind her. Murdock wouldn't mind. He was gone for the night. And even if he'd been here, he wouldn't have been in the pool house. He had been sleeping on the sofa in the main house every night. He was also the one who'd told her where to find Hannibal.

She walked to the couch and slid a hand into Hannibal's hair as she stepped around the side of it. He still didn't look up, even as she stopped in front of him.

"Hannibal."

Head down, hands folded, he didn't even react to the sound of her voice. But she knew he'd heard. If he hadn't, he would've been startled by her touch. Instead, he was leaning his head against her hand. She hesitated briefly before stroking her fingers through his hair. She had never seen him like this. He looked worn, beaten, and broken - things Hannibal never showed. It seemed wrong and she hated it.

Words wouldn't help. She knew that instinctively. She had spent most of her life using words like currency to get what she wanted, never really meaning what she said. He was worth more than that. But what else was she supposed to do? This was uncharted territory.

Putting a hand on either side of his head, she slowly knelt in front of him until she was looking up into his eyes. "Talk to me," she pleaded quietly.

But he didn't talk. After a long moment of silence, she knew it was pointless to press. Instead, she gathered her mental and emotional strength and did what she had been wanting to do for weeks: she kissed him, long and slow. While he had been pushing her away and hiding in his own private hell, she had been waiting. And now, she just couldn't wait anymore.

It took him a long moment to respond. When he finally did, it was slow and effortless. He was letting her lead - something he'd never done. She gave a small, relieved smile as he sat back slowly, a wordless invitation for her to follow the kiss, to crawl onto his lap. Her hands moved down his neck under his jacket slowly, moving it off his shoulders while slowly trailing kisses over his face, jaw, neck. It was slow and unhurried - a rare opportunity for her to explore him.

"Just relax," she whispered. "I'll take care of things for a while."

He didn't respond. Eyes closed, he didn't look at her. Lips on his again, she slid her hands down his arms, removing his jacket , feeling the tense muscles underneath. He neither cooperated, nor resisted her. He simply returned the kiss at the slow, gentle pace that she set, and kept his hands at his sides - letting her do what she would do.

"I'm tired, Suzanne," he whispered softly.

She ran her hands up along the back of his neck and into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. "I know."

"I hate being on the defense. It's exhausting. Having to keep your guard up at all times, never knowing when everything's going to change."

"Let me take care of you for a while. Please. You need to relax."

"So goddamn tired..."

Parting slowly from him, she stood and undressed slowly. It had been almost a month since she had been with him, and just the scent of him made her very aware of that. She wanted him. She wanted to be naked with him, skin to skin. She wanted his hands and his gaze on her.

She had his attention. But his eyes were empty and sad. Full of pain and exhaustion and hopelessness. All of the things she should never, ever see in his eyes. Her confidence faltered just a little. Was that even _him_ in those eyes? Everything that made him Hannibal Smith seemed to be lacking in the emptiness there. As she knelt onto his lap - knees on either side - she took his face in her hands again.

"Please don't look at me like that," she whispered pleadingly.

The look didn't change. He just hid it, closing his eyes and bowing his head. But finally, thankfully, his arms went around her, holding her tight.

She knew his body. She knew what he liked. He wasn't unwilling, just somehow distant. Too quiet, too far away. It took long minutes of slow stroking and kissing and touching before he finally entered her - his face buried in her neck as she rocked on his lap. He was clinging to her, holding her so tight it nearly took her breath away. He'd never done that before. She'd never seen him act like this...

When he finally came, all she heard was a gasp. A few staggered breaths, and then he was silent, his grip on her slowly loosening, his face still buried in her neck. She heard his breathing slow and even out - felt his hands smooth down her back, and finally, slowly, he kissed her neck. It was the first initiative he'd taken all night.

She stayed where she was and held him, letting her hands run over the tight muscles in his shoulders. "Are you okay, John?"

It was a stupid question. He _wasn't _okay. But it's what he would have asked her if the tables had been turned. Right now, she would try, say, or do anything to take that look out of his eyes.

"No." The sound of his voice made her sigh with relief. He was talking. "No, I'm not okay. I have a hurt man trying to recover, a target I can't acquire, a potential threat bearing down on us that's exhausting us all - emotionally and physically... and no goddamn plan."

"You have your team," she reminded. "And you have every man Stockwell can spare here to protect your men."

Hannibal's brief laugh was bitter and cynical. "I have no confidence in Stockwell's men, even en masse."

"You have me."

He paused at that, and shook his head slowly as he lowered it.

She sighed, trying to find the words to turn this awful situation into something that could be dealt with. "John, you said it yourself. It's a matter of who finds who first. You're only one man. Even you have limits."

"I know that."

"Even you aren't invincible. So what more do you think you could be doing?"

The pain in his eyes was deep and burning. Holding his gaze, she could swear she saw his eyes flood. "Nothing." He dropped his head and turned it away from her. "There's nothing I can do."

She held him for a second like that, fighting against the tightness in her own chest. It hurt to see him like this. It brought to the surface feelings she wasn't even aware she had. Feelings she had been so sure had died decades ago. Tenderness, love, and caring.

She stroked his hair back. "You're only human John."

"I know."

Those new-old feelings had her kissing his forehead before she pulled back to look in his eyes again. "When you find him or he finds you, you won't be alone. You, your men, me. We'll be there. And one way or another we will put an end to this."

"How long is this going to last?" He asked that question as if he really wanted, really hoped for an answer from her. But he had to know there was no answer she could give. "Two weeks feels like two years. And I don't know how much more of this I can take, Suzanne."

She didn't have answers and he was way too good at reading her to let her even think about lying to him. "I don't know, John. I don't know how much longer or much more you can take, but we will still be here."

He shook his head, eyes closed. "I'm so goddamn tired."

She brushed her hand across his cheek and then rested her palm against the side of his face. "Take a break from being strong tonight. I'll watch over things for a while, you rest."

She could feel the reluctance. But he really was too tired to fight. He leaned into her hand and she tried not to flinch as she felt the hot saline tears on her palm. It had probably been decades since this man had cried, and it hurt her to think of how much he must be feeling to do it now. Guilt and pain and helplessness... Watching his men hurt was worse than hell for him.

She had seen what Harrison was capable of. Hannibal and his team were in for a hell of a fight. Hannibal would have to be strong when that time came, but for a few hours she could let him be weak and human. And let him rest.

Kissing his tears, she slid her arms around him and holding him tight. Suzanne tried to give him all the things she had to give, without words. Understand, love, caring, acceptance, and protection. He needed all of those things, just to be able to get a few hours sleep. She could be strong for him. If Harrison came during that time, then she would kill him herself. It was the least she would do for Hannibal.

***X*X*X***

The noise in the living room had BA up, out of bed, and down the hallway in ten seconds flat. Hyper vigilant, even in his sleep, he was ready with pistol in hand. But it wasn't a threat. It was Murdock.

"Thought you was going to see your girlfriend tonight."

"And I thought you were sleeping."

Murdock was staring out the window, again, and smoking, again. Most likely he had a bottle of vodka on him too.

"Besides, I'm a little old for a girlfriend."

BA frowned deeply. Too old for a girlfriend? What was that supposed to mean? "Man, you talkin' crazy."

Murdock didn't answer. BA sat down on the sofa, in no great hurry to get back to his room and the loneliness there.

"You been seein' her for four years and you ain't married. She's your girlfriend. It don't matter how old you are."

Murdock turned and looked at him with those cold eyes he hated. That look didn't belong on Murdock. It was too cold and unfeeling. "I'm not crazy, BA. Not anymore."

"Then stop talkin' like you are."

"I was, once. When I went back to Vietnam."

BA sighed. Murdock didn't talk about Vietnam. None of them did, not really. There was a reason for that, and BA was fine with it. He didn't like thinking about it either. But he'd been around his team long enough to know when they were thinking about it. Murdock was remembering things.

"Man, why you sittin' here thinking about that?"

"It was the only place I could go to not lose my mind completely. The only place where I mattered."

"Yeah? So? What's that supposed to mean?"

Murdock paused long enough to take a drag and look out at the Abels, scurrying across the grounds like ants. "Was that it, BA? Was that the problem?"

"What problem?"

"Was I broken enough that I did something unthinkable? Is that why Cruiser turned on me, on all of us?"

BA's brow furrowed. "You didn't do nothin', Murdock. This ain't your fault. None of this is."

There was an old little smile that didn't match the look in Murdock's eyes. "Come on big guy, you've never lied to me."

"I ain't lyin'. I don't lie."

"Hannibal knows it started with me, Face knows why. But I can't ask him. He's too hurt right now."

BA frowned deeply, watching as Murdock hunched over. The hand with the cigarette went to his head, palm pressing against his temple as his eyes closed for a second.

"I can see all these little flashes, pictures in my head. But they're all jumbled and out of order. It doesn't make any sense. Cruiser was _loyal_ to Hannibal. He wouldn't have..." He stopped, unable to say what had been done. "He wouldn't have betrayed Hannibal's trust without a damn good reason, BA. And I know I was the reason. So what the hell did I do?"

BA sighed. He didn't want to hurt Murdock. But he wasn't going to dance around the facts either. If he was asking - more importantly, if he was asking BA, of all people - he wanted the facts and he wanted them straight. And there was no telling how much he already did know.

"I don't know what you did. I know a rumor got started that you was gay. I know a bunch of guys came after you. And I know Face thought Cruiser started the rumor. So he beat up Cruiser. Bad."

"Gay?" Murdock asked, confused.

"We know it was just a rumor. But those guys didn't."

Murdock shook his head and actually laughed - a little, dark laugh. "Well, if he was looking to get me killed, he couldn't have picked a better place than Nha Trang to start that shit."

"What do you mean?"

"Alan had already laid groundwork for it."

BA stared, not sure what to say to that or if he should say anything at all. Murdock had gone back to looking out the window, staring at nothing. There was a full minute of silence, so strange when Murdock was in the room. Then he pulled out his liquor and took a long drink. Man, how did he choke that stuff down?

Tapping the bottle against his leg absently Murdock once again turned to look at him. BA was expecting more questions. Instead, all he got was a tight smile. "Thanks BA."

BA watched him quietly. He'd taken that remarkably well. And BA had a cautious question of his own. "Murdock, how much _do _you remember?"

Murdock flinched slightly and looked away. "I know I killed Morrison," he said. "I've known that since the trial. I know what happened in Nha Trang. In my own damn chopper. I know Cruiser though it was funny. And I know Cruiser pushed Face, talked about Dai until Face went at him."

BA could feel the cold anger settle in him at the mention of Dai. That was something none of them ever talked about, period. If Cruiser had brought that man, and everything he'd done to them, into his fight with Face, he deserved every bit of the beating he got all that much more. And it wasn't like he was lacking a cause to begin with.

"I still don't know what I did to Cruiser to set him off."

Taking a deep breath, as calming as he could manage, BA stood. "You didn't do nothin', man. Cruiser was a time bomb. You don't make that kind of evil from the outside. It was in him all the time. We just didn't see it."

"We've all got that in us, BA."

"Nuh uh. Not like that."

"I can feel it sometimes," Murdock whispered. "All twisted up inside and wanting out. And I seen it in your eyes in Cairo."

"That's different."

"No, it's not." He took a drag from his cigarette. "Want to know what I feel about killing Morrison in cold blood? Nothing. I killed him and it means _nothing_ to me."

"I killed a lot of people, don't mean nothin'."

BA was almost surprised by the words coming out of his mouth. Not that they weren't true, or that he didn't know it full well. But knowing it and speaking it out loud were two very different things.

"That camp broke all of us, BA," Murdock said quietly. "And we all have that evil in us. But none of us would turn it on the other without a reason. And everyone knows I was the reason."

"No." BA stared at him, cold and steady, and spoke in an authoritative tone he rarely used. "You wrong. None of _us _would turn on each other, _period_. This _ain't _your fault, Murdock."

It wasn't anger. It was simply the determination that BA could speak this thing into existence, and he would back it up with anger later if anyone tried to challenge it. But right now, it was gospel truth because he said it was.

Murdock glanced back at him. Then, crushing out his cigarette, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How do you do it BA?"

"Do what?"

"Stay steady and sane in the middle of this shit storm?"

BA was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he felt the faintest hint of a smile pull at the corner of his lips. "I got to. Who else gonna do it?"

Murdock laughed, a real laugh this time. "Good point."

BA stood quietly, waiting. Murdock wasn't done, he could tell. He was just pausing long enough to light another cigarette.

"I can't go to Bev, BA. She doesn't want me around, and I'm not safe right now."

"Well, you better get yourself safe and go see her. Whether she wants you around or not, you need something other than booze and cigarettes to focus on. It ain't healthy."

"You could show me how to fix a VCR."

BA's brow creased. "The VCR works fine."

Smiling one of those crazy, whole-face grins of his, Murdock reached over to the TV with one of his long, lanky, knuckle dragging arms and scooped up the VCR, yanking the cords out. He was still looking at BA and grinning like the cat that ate the canary when he walked over to the fish tank against the wall. There was a loud _sploosh!_ and water sloshed over the sides of the tank as Murdock dropped the VCR in.

"Nope," he said seriously. "I'm pretty sure it's broken."

BA stared for a long moment, then shook his head as he turned away. But he was smiling as he turned and headed back to his room. "Man, you crazy."


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

Face woke up slowly. He was warm, aware of the body that was pressed against his back and the arm around his midsection. It took him a few minutes to figure out why that was so startling. He remembered last night; he'd passed out on the bathroom floor. How had he made it to the bed? How had he managed to get himself undressed in the process? He shut his eyes again as he realized it didn't really matter. He didn't really care. It wasn't often that he drank enough to black out portions of the night. But at the moment, it seemed like the least of his worries.

He let himself wake up slowly, glancing at the clock. It was almost one in the afternoon. Shit. Hannibal had wanted him up this morning. He'd never said it in so many words; they were all clear on the fact that nobody was going to push for Face to do much of anything right now. But Face knew. He sighed. Just one more failure. Somehow, he didn't even care.

It bothered him. Not caring. It bothered him a hell of a lot more than the failure itself. The numbness bothered him more than the pain. And the fact that even though he was totally sober, he still felt just as disconnected as he had the night before.

Hands in his hair. She was awake. He sighed as he turned onto his back slowly, and let his eyes find her face. It was time to be awake now. Not that being awake accomplished a whole hell of a lot.

"Good morning, Jess."

Her fingers didn't stop stroking in his hair as she gave him a small half smile. She pulled in close to him again, putting her free arm on his chest. "Morning, Face." She gave him a soft kiss on the lips before settling her head on his shoulder. "How's your head?"

He evaluated for a moment. "As of right now, fine. We'll see if that changes when I try to get up."

"You slept like a rock. Feel better?"

" Yeah."

"Good." She paused briefly. "Hannibal came in a few hours ago. You didn't even stir."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

She smiled faintly. "I figured you were still drunk. Or at least a bit hung over. I didn't think you'd want to have a conversation."

He sighed. She was right about that. But the knowledge that he'd been so unaware that he didn't notice when someone came into the room simply made that uncomfortable feeling worse. _Well, then, you shouldn't have gotten shitfaced last night. It's simple cause and effect._

"Oh, and those came for you." She turned and pointed to the flowers on the bedside table. "But they knocked."

Confused, Face stared at the arrangement for a long moment. "What? From who?" Nobody was even supposed to know they were there. Who the hell was sending flowers?

"James and Heather." She lowered her eyes. "I called them both the other night. Just to let them know everything was okay."

"And you told them where we were staying?" He wasn't sure why that made him so uncomfortable, but it did.

"They wanted to know. James actually wanted to drive down - he's at NYU, remember? - but I said you weren't up for it."

Uncomfortable had turned to squirming. "What else did you tell them?"

"I said you were hurt, but I didn't say how. Or how badly."

Face was quiet for a moment, considering all of this. "You shouldn't have told them where we are."

Jessica sighed. "I'm sorry, Face. I just wanted them to know everything was okay." She stroked the side of his face lightly. "That you were okay. They knew something was wrong. I don't just disappear for weeks without a reason."

He sighed, letting it go as he rested his cheek carefully against her forehead. He could feel the scar tissue forming there, against his teeth. "You got me to bed last night." It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more. But as he considered it, he pulled back slightly, enough to look into her eyes. His voice was ringing with sincerity when he spoke again. "Thank you."

"You've done the same for me," she reminded him quietly.

"Not quite the same."

"True. I was passed out in the tub, with the water on. And I wasn't quite as nice to you the next day."

He laughed softly, stroking her hair back slightly. "I'll try to be nice."

The first hint of fond memories, of feeling, of happiness, hit him so hard it caught him off guard. Without thought, he clung to it, playing out the rest of that evening, the next morning, the days and weeks following. The memory of falling in love, of realizing he was in love. The feeling of entering her for the first time, of that pleasure he'd told himself for so long he couldn't have and didn't want. Losing himself there, and taking from her all those things that he was lacking in himself. The look in her eyes when she came. Making love to her for hours. And _meaning_ it...

"Then I'll forgive you for smoking all my cigarettes."

Her voice, light but still somehow pleading, cut through his thoughts. He stroked her hair as he answered her with a faint smile. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright. Seems like you had a rough night."

"Yeah."

She lowered her eyes away from his, and he watched as she licked her lips, almost nervously. It was several long moments of silence before she gathered herself together and looked back up at him. "Is it strange to say I want nothing more in the world than to hear you laugh again?"

He forced a tight smile, and shook his head. "No," he finally whispered. "It's not strange."

Of course she wanted that. It was the same damn thing he wanted. Everything back to normal. Just like it never happened.

Her eyes were blurry with unshed tears, in spite of her soft smile. "I'm sorry."

Too bad it didn't work that way.

"It's just..." She touched his lips lightly with her fingertips. "My God, you're so beautiful."

He watched her for a long moment, and the smile gradually fell. Very slowly, he ran his fingers over her hair, down the side of her face, along her jaw. Her skin was warm. Familiar. That part of him that was still screaming like a needy child held on for all it was worth to that familiarity. Slowly, carefully, he tipped her chin up and brought his lips to hers.

She returned the kiss gently, letting him lead. Eyes sliding closed, he felt it deepen, felt her hands slide to either side of his head. She wasn't trapping him, just holding him. Letting him feel her there. Did she know how much he wanted to feel that? How much he wanted to feel anything but this numb nothingness that had settled over him?

Sliding an arm around her waist, he pushed up on her, guiding her onto her back, tongue probing as he explored those kindling emotions that couldn't quite catch. He wanted to feel love and passion and pleasure. But his thoughts were running wild in every direction. The kids and Vietnam and old friends now turned enemies. Hannibal and Cruiser and what was going to happen when any one of them were placed in the same room with him. Stockwell and his lies and manipulation and how long he had spent trying so hard to hide Jessica from him. It didn't matter now. This was it. Things were never going back to the way they were.

Jessica pulled back gently from the kiss, closing it in spite of his desperation. "Face..."

"I need you," he answered, without thought. Very slowly, he raised his eyes to hers, reading the surprise on her face, the uncertainty. "I need to feel like me again. I can't feel anything here. But I remember." He pressed closer to her, drawing the heat from her body. "I remember what it felt like to be with you. I know it felt good."

She stared at him, and finally shut her eyes, lowering her head slightly. "Yes," she whispered. "It did."

His fingertips caressed the side of her face. Warm skin under his touch. Familiar. He needed her to be familiar. He needed to feel something he knew, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure he knew nothing better than sex. And not just any sex - but with her. It was even more reason to believe that if he could feel anything at all anymore, this would be it. He needed something to drown out the thoughts. Something powerful. Something safe. That something was her.

It was a desperate cry, and he knew it. But he had to try. He didn't really know where else to turn. The warmth of her skin, her breath, her body against his... it was more than that numb cold. And if he still didn't know exactly what it was, what it was supposed to feel like, what it _would _feel like... at least it was something.

"Please..."

And he trusted her. Above all, he trusted her to make him feel again.

"Face..."

Her tone was pained, and a flicker of fear passed through him as he anticipated the rejection and steeled himself for it. A million reasons why she shouldn't want him. Even more reasons why she shouldn't want him right _now_ - scarred and broken and violated in ways that he couldn't forget.

"Anything you want, Face," she whispered, wincing as if the words physically hurt her to say. Her thumb stroked his unhurt cheek. "Anything you need, it's yours."

"I want you."

She bit her lip, then nodded slowly. "You have me. You always have me."

He watched her eyes for a long moment before he kissed her again, slowly, and slid his hand down her side, caressing naked skin.

His body knew all the motions. Firmly engrained instincts, years of training his body to react and recognize conditioned responses. The moves had been practiced a thousand times on a hundred women, and he knew her body better than any of them. It had never even crossed his mind that he wouldn't know his own.

He couldn't silence the screaming in his head. The same racing thoughts at first - this was the end of Stockwell, Cruiser was going to die, Cruiser _deserved_ to die, Stockwell didn't want him dead, where would they go? - and then a growing sense of panic as he realized that the conditioned responses weren't working. He tried to put all of his attention on them - the thoughts, the fantasies, the memories... the soft touches and the firm stroking. She knew what to do and he knew what he liked.

His mind reeled from the assault of more information than it could handle. The visions became confused. Random women became Vietnamese women, in a darkened brothel with Cruiser there. The Vietnamese women became Jessica, and he stood back and watched as Cruiser kissed and touched her...

He collapsed, breathing hard for all the wrong reasons, his forehead against her shoulder as he struggled desperately to make the thoughts _stop_. In the panic and desperation and confusion, he could feel himself actually longing for the safety of that unfeeling numbness again.

"I'm sorry..." His breathing was ragged. The fear and frustration - how could he not do something that was so completely and totally natural? - was a living thing, wrapping around him, squeezing him until he couldn't breathe. "I'm so sorry, Jess..."

One hand behind his head, fingers stroking lightly through his hair, then down his spine. "Shh..."

"I'm sorry." How could he fail in this? Even this? Something he knew so well...

"Face, there's nothing to be sorry for here."

"This is _wrong_!" The fury startled him, fists clenching under the pillow that was beneath her. "I've never had trouble performing in my life!"

She hesitated for a moment. He could feel the tension in her body and immediately cursed himself for the anger. For letting her see it. For feeling it in the first place. He should be able to control that. But it seemed he had no control over anything anymore.

That thought only made him more angry.

"I don't want a performance, Face." The sound was soft and hypnotic and yet authoritative - a voice used in desperate times. The one the nuns had used at three a.m. to calm nightmares. The one Hannibal used to keep panic at bay. It was the voice dying men wanted to hear. Reassurance and safety, the "okay" to let go and freefall.

The anger drained from him all at once, and a deep sense of loss and despair rushed in to take its place. He found himself fighting tears as he fell into the warmth and comfort of her embrace.

"This too shall pass," she whispered. "I promise."

"I'm sorry."

"Shh... Just close your eyes, baby." Feather touches along his skin, everywhere she could reach, alerting his nerves to her presence. They jumped to attention, and screamed at his brain. But his brain wouldn't listen. He was cut off. Helpless. Emasculated. The despair ripped through him, and it took his breath away.

"I just want you, Face. If that means nothing more than kissing you, touching you, I'm fine with that."

"I'm not."

"You should be." Her voice was so soothing. As his thoughts died down into quiet nothingness, it was the only thing he was aware of. She was everything he had to hold onto right now. Everything he could hope to understand. "When has sex ever been about sex?"

He took a slow, calming breath, and shut his eyes hard, trying to concentrate on the sound of her voice, the comfort of her hands on him, the safety and warmth of body beneath his. "I'm sorry."

"Face, stop." Her voice, still exceedingly calm and gentle, somehow rang with authority. "This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

He could hear her breathing falter as he turned his head and pressed his lips to her neck, kissing her pulse. "Please don't cry," he whispered. It felt wrong - utterly selfish - to ask that of her. And maybe it was – especially when he couldn't stop his own tears from falling. But he wasn't sure he could handle the sight of her crying right now.

He felt her take a few slow, deep breaths. Eyes closed, he kissed her shoulder, nuzzling gently against her. It wasn't erotic. And this time it wasn't planned. It was slow and needful, cautiously feeling her out as if it was the very first time he'd been close to her. What was it about her that was so beautiful and safe? What was it in her words and the sound of her voice? What was it in her body and the feel of her skin? He loved her. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He loved being with her. But it was more than that...

"What do you need, Face?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Think about it," she whispered softly. "All the things we've done, the games we've played..."

He let his mind wander over the memories. At the moment, none of them were erotic. But most all of them should've made him feel... safe. They'd run the gamut of fantasy and sex games. He'd done things with her he'd never even thought of doing with anyone else. She knew both sides of him, and she accepted them both. She'd given him a freedom that was beyond what he'd ever expected to feel. And he remembered every time in vivid color.

"We've had a lot of sex."

"Yes," she answered, her smile audible in her tone. Her fingers stroked through his hair lightly, massaging his scalp. "We have."

He moved to her side, nuzzling his face against her shoulder - God, he could feel that scar tissue every time he moved. Resting a hand on her stomach, he pulled the other one under his head and closed his eyes. He had failed miserably. But right now, he was too emotionally exhausted to care.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

The hours seemed to take days. The morning team meeting had done nothing but further emphasize the fact that there was nothing to do but wait for the next sighting. Once that happened, Hannibal had a plan to mobilize them quickly, and how to trap him once they got there. But it still meant an awful lot of waiting in the meantime.

Stockwell had assured them that locating Cruiser was a top priority for his operatives, and every state and federal law enforcement agency had been provided with a name, photo, and description of him. He really believed that he would be notified, within the hour if not a matter of minutes, if Cruiser was found. Murdock wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he did know that he wasn't reassured. At least, not as reassured as he'd be if Hannibal announced that he had a plan to find Cruiser instead of just waiting for him to surface.

Evening fell. Murdock had paced back and forth in the living room so many times, he really was making a path in the carpet. It was a path littered with cigarette ash. He didn't give a damn. He had too many other things on his mind to care about the condition of Stockwell's carpet.

"You look like you need a break, Murdock."

Hannibal's voice was startling, but not entirely unexpected. Murdock had heard him wander into the kitchen. He didn't bother answering. They all looked like hell, and it didn't matter. As long as Cruiser was out there, they would have no rest. They would get a couple fitful hours of sleep then go back to more of this damn waiting.

He lit a smoke and took a long drag, willing it to calm the voices and flashes in his head. Blood, battles, Face's dying words and Cruiser's haunting laugh. In the best of times, Murdock hated waiting. It bored him, made his mind wander. And lately his mind had been wandering off into places that he didn't want to go.

"You don't need to be here right now, Murdock. Take a break and go see Bev."

Murdock's fist clenched. Hannibal he couldn't tell him shit about what had happened, what he really wanted to know. He couldn't tell him what they were going to do. But he was going to stand there telling him what to do with his evening.

"I need to be here."

"You need to get some sleep."

Hannibal's attention remained on Murdock even if his eyes were on his task - another pot of coffee at seven o'clock in the evening. He filled the pot with water, then dumped it into the back of the coffee maker and turned, arms crossed loosely, comfortably, over his chest.

"Take the night off, Murdock. You're no good to Face when you're this strung out."

Something very cold and very pissed stirred inside of Murdock. He turned slowly, fists tight, and eyed up that arrogant pose. What in the hell was his problem? It sure as hell had nothing to do with Bev. He had never particularly liked her.

Murdock took a deep, nicotine-filled breath - in and out - pushing down that anger, pushing back the memories. "I'll sleep here."

"Well, maybe you should give her a call and have her join you here, then."

Murdock growled audibly. He didn't want to see Bev. He didn't even want to think about her - not when he was like this. And he sure as hell didn't want Hannibal talking about her, as if he had a right to.

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about Bev's whereabouts? Not like you ever gave a damn before."

"No, I didn't," Hannibal answered simply. "And I don't. I care about _you_."

"Great." He turned away again. He didn't want to see Hannibal right now. More importantly, he didn't really want Hannibal to see him. "Well, since you care and all, you can accept that I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't have to leave to make a phone call."

"God damn it, drop it Hannibal!"

Why was he pushing this? It was a little thing that was none of his business to begin with and he knew it. Murdock _knew _he knew it. But just like before, when he'd stopped in the apartment parking lot and asked who was going to go knock on the door, he was meddling again. It wasn't like him. And it wasn't appreciated.

Murdock pulled the flask from his pocket and twisted the cap off, taking a swig and recapping it before he trusted himself to speak again. "It's none of your business. You need to just leave it the fuck alone."

"Alright. I'll drop it." The confrontational tone made it clear he wasn't really going to drop it. "I'll drop it just as soon as you put that bottle down."

"Oh, fuckyou!"

"Because until you do, I am going to be all over you, making sure you engage in something other than self-destructive behavior. Because we both know where that bottle takes you if I _don't _step in."

"Wrong, Colonel. I know where it takes me, and Face knows. You don't. You made that clear."

"I saw enough when I came and pulled your ass out of a shitty motel room and told you to come back to where you belong."

Murdock growled. The cold feeling was taking over, numbing him to the consequences. "Yeah, and you put together an abridged version, just enough to make you feel like you have insight. But you left the nitty gritty to Face to carry - _alone_ - because you sure as hell didn't want to know. It didn't really matter what the fuck happened, just so long as you didn't have to admit a mistake."

"Not sure what you're talking about, Murdock. But it doesn't sound familiar."

Murdock dropped the smoke and crushed it under his shoe. "'Course not. Deniability is key." He took another drink. "Tell me something Hannibal. What happened to those guys?"

"What guys?"

"The guys who beat the leaving shit out of me?"

"They were taken care of."

"Not by you." He stepped forward, into Hannibal's space. His voice was low and hard, almost snarling. Inside of him, that dark thing was howling - screaming for blood. "You would have had to actually want to know something about that little 'incident' to do something about it."

"It was hard to miss," Hannibal answered, his voice cold.

"Yeah, but it didn't really matter, right?"

"I never said that."

"We broke the team. Or did we? Best not to find out. Best not to know how or why. Better just to lay it on us and not on the fact you fucked up and missed the monsters in your midst."

Hannibal was looking back at him with no emotion in his eyes. "I missed the warning signs with Cruiser. I admit that freely."

"Missed the warning signs?" He gave a cold, tight laugh. "Cute. I think given that he's a psychopathic killer, its more appropriate to say you fucked up."

"Yes. I fucked up."

Murdock didn't back off. He didn't acknowledge the admission, or the calm way Hannibal made it. If anything, Hannibal's simple tone made the thing inside of him scream louder.

"And Face pays again. Just like he did then. Just another secret for him to deal with. You should have done something back then, not Face. _You _should have had to live with that fucking guilt - alone - not him! He didn't do one fucking thing to deserve that!"

** "**And neither did you."

"Fuck you!"

Murdock shoved him, hard, but he stepped back, away from the fight rather than into it.

"If you want to put blame where it belongs, I'm all for that. Just remember, it _does _belong on me. Not on Face, and not on you."

" You don't know that! You don't know anything about it, just the way you wanted it!"

"What is it you think I didn't want to know, Murdock? What happened in that chopper? That Cruiser started the rumor? Because I knew all of that."

"That's a lie."

"Why would I lie about that?"

"Beats me. Because you told me yourself you didn't want to know."

_ "Please tell me that this didn't all start in my own goddamn team."_

_ It was a genuine, heartfelt plea, and Murdock winced as he heard it. _

_ "I'm sorry," Murdock finally whispered back. It was easier to imagine someone else was saying it._

_ Hannibal sighed deeply. "Look, I don't know what you did, or didn't do, and whose fault anything was. When it comes right down to it, it really doesn't matter." _

"What I didn't want to know," Hannibal said flatly, his tone a bit harder, "and what I didn't care about, was what, exactly, those rumors said about you and Face and whose _brilliant _idea it was to start that shit when both of you knew the potential consequences."

"What shit?" Murdock shot back, mockingly.

"I didn't know. I _don't_ know! I don't care. But Cruiser didn't pull those rumors out of his ass, Murdock. You might've had a history in Nha Trang, and I don't know or care how you got it. I never did. It never made a difference to me. And it didn't make a difference to Cruiser, either, until he saw what was going on between you and Face."

Murdock had a fist up and across Hannibal's chin before he even fully realized he was moving. Hannibal turned his head with the blow, then looked back up, eyes meeting Murdock's slowly. But he didn't strike back. He just watched him.

"Say it," Murdock growled.

"Say what?"

"If you believe it, then say it. Don't fucking dance around it."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. "I told you. I don't know. I don't want to know. And I don't care."

There was a new anger rising up in Murdock. Intense, self-righteous anger. He couldn't even bring himself to think about what it was he wanted Hannibal to say, what it was that Hannibal apparently believed. What did he think happened? And did he think, or did he know? All of those rumors for so long, it shouldn't have bothered him that one more person thought he was a fag. But this wasn't just one more person. It was Hannibal.

Decades worth of impotent anger at a target he could never touch suddenly had an outlet. He was on Hannibal, holding his shirt with both fists, before he even realized he was moving. "You fucking say it!"

Hannibal stared back at him, eyes narrowed slightly. But he said nothing.

"You say it," Murdock growled low, eyes locked on him. "And I will beat the shit out of you, right here and now. Just to settle this once and for all."

"I have nothing to settle with you, Murdock," Hannibal said, his tone expressionless, not looking away.

"Well, I do. Because you are _dead_ fucking wrong."

"Alright. I'm wrong."

Murdock glared at him for a moment longer, then slowly released his hold and took a step back. His anger was still raging, but the recant made it difficult to follow through with a fist. More importantly, it wasn't even Hannibal he was mad at. It was himself. Did he have a fucking sign on his forehead that said "weak ass pussy"? Why the hell was it that everyone, even Hannibal, thought that? And what was worse, for it to be bullshit or for it to be true? All his fucking life people had seen something in him that made him weaker, different, a target. It didn't matter if whatever they said about him, however they interpreted it, was true or not. To the kids at school, he was a crazy bastard kid. To Alan, he was a fag. To his father, he was all of the above. They saw it and they used it. To hear that even Hannibal saw it was at once confusing, infuriating, and heartbreaking.

Worse, it was that thing about him - that thing they saw, whatever it was - that was the root cause of all of this. Because Cruiser saw it, too. And he'd somehow dragged Face in on it.

"If you need to be angry at somebody, you go right ahead and be angry at me," Hannibal said flatly. "In fact, I'd prefer you did."

"Mad at you? For what?" Murdock's stomach churned - acid and vodka and the sickening realization of just how much this whole thing was his fault. "I should have expected you to be just like everyone else. Hell, my own family thought it. Why wouldn't you?"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, and he dropped his tone and volume as he stepped closer. "Listen, Murdock. I don't give a _shit _who you fuck. And I don't give a shit who did what or why between you and Face. It was twenty years ago. It's over."

"If it was over, Face wouldn't be bleeding from all those holes Cruiser put in him."

Hannibal ignored him. "What I _do _care about is watching you wallow in self pity because it's safer and it feels more natural to blame yourself than to let us do our part as a team to get through this. I won't stand for it. Now, you _will _stand down. You _will _get some rest. Or God help me, I will drug you and make you get some rest."

There was no point in saying it out loud. Hannibal was done with the talking part of the show and so was he. Murdock wanted out, away from Hannibal and his words. He wanted to be alone, but there wasn't a place here for that and he couldn't be too far from Face. Not now. Just another trap, with no choice. There was no doubt in his mind Hannibal meant what he said about drugging him, and there was no chance in hell he would let that happen. Thirteen years in the VA had pretty much turned him off to forced medication.

The best option was to give Hannibal what he wanted. He wanted Murdock at Bev's. Fine. If he was lucky, she would be gone, somewhere safe. He didn't look at Hannibal and he didn't look back. Without another word, he headed for the door, letting his fingers curl around the keys in his pocket. He couldn't think about anything beyond getting away from here.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

"So what the hell made you decide to come back _now_?" There was fire in Bev's eyes as she stood, hands on her hips in the center of the living room, glaring at him.

Murdock turned away from her, away from the anger and emotion. He didn't come here for more of that. But from the moment he'd stepped into the apartment, she'd been issuing a challenge. "I'm not running, Bev. There's things I've had to take care of."

"Yeah. Things. I got that. You couldn't even _call_?"

"No."

He turned away from her, towards the small table by the balcony door that held bottles filled with liquor.

"No," she repeated. "That's it? Just no?"

He growled. "Jesus, Beverly, what do you want?"

"You come here and seem to think you can just act like nothing's wrong. What do you think I want?"

He grabbed one of the bottles on the table and poured without even looking at it.

"I don't want you here until you're willing to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on with you."

He tossed back the shot with one harsh swallow. Fucking great, it was whiskey. He hated whiskey. It reminded him too much of his old man on a bender.

"Deal with it," he growled at her.

"You don't get to make that decision for me."

"Then _don't_!" he yelled, spinning to glare at her.

Was this what his father felt like when he got rip shit? Was it why the man only ever had two settings - detached and mean? _Keep it up, Murdock, and you'll be whipping out a belt and reenacting "White Christmas" Murdock family style._ He took a calming breath as he set the glass down hard.

"I'll leave if that's your only suggestion," Bev said, somewhere between a threat and a statement of fact. "I'm sure I could find a nice little place in the Caribbean somewhere."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, will you stop with the fucking drama? You want to leave?" He gestured, "There's the door."

She glared at him. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Yes." Fucking anger and detachment; he'd had his fill of both. Enough to last several miserable lifetimes.

"Oh, so is that the goal?'

He fixed her in his gaze - a cold, warning look. "Don't push it, Beverly."

The voice, the tone, the dark anger was not his. His sane mind - his safe mind - was screaming warnings at him. _Don't do this! It's not worth it!_ It wasn't. He knew that. He didn't want to give himself over to this anger. He didn't want to feel like this. But what he wanted didn't matter anymore. What he wanted was irrelevant. Nothing was going to calm that ice cold bloodlust inside of him until that _thing_ in his chest was dead. That thing that made images of blood and pain flash so vivid he had to close his eyes against them. That thing that brought the smell of sex and terror and tangled it all up with images of Face and the dark inside of a Huey. He could feel it growling in his chest. It wanted out. It wanted blood.

"I don't want to hurt you," he growled low.

She laughed.

It was the laughter that had his blood running cold and the thing in him screaming in outrage. Suddenly and without warning, it was in him, on him, around him. There was not one fucking thing he found laughable about any of this. Not Face curled in the shower, not BA's helpless anger, Hannibal's distant eyes, Stockwell's lies and deceit. Not the deeper memories, the laughing voices, the fingers prying his mouth open. Not the pain and the guilt and the confusion and horror.

Blood roared in his ears as his mind slammed down on those thoughts, closing them away. Too far to understand them but not far away enough to keep from feeling them. He had taken two steps towards her before he caught himself .

"You really think this is funny?" he snarled.

"Fucking hilarious."

"Walk away, Bev." He was speaking in nothing more than a harsh whisper, but the words seemed to spark and jump with the same electricity that was stirring up every ounce of violence inside of him.

"Why? Because I can't take it? Or because you're too scared to go there?"

He shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, tried to breathe. Was she _trying _to do this to him? "You don't know what you're doing," he hissed at her, as much an effort to convince himself as to convince her.

"I know what I'm doing," she said flatly. "And we both know that it's never been my inability to take it that's held you back. You're just too fucking pussy to feel anything that real."

He could almost hear the snap when his very last thread of control broke free. She never even finished before he had her against the wall. She glared back at him, unafraid. "Go ahead, Murdock," she growled. "For once in your life, fuck me like you mean it."

It was the last thing she said before he turned and threw her to the floor.

***X*X*X***

"You know it wasn't like that, right?"

Hannibal didn't answer. Face wasn't coming outside, and that meant he didn't really want to talk. That was a good thing. Hannibal didn't really want to talk to him, either.

"I overheard bits and pieces of what you said to Murdock," Face said. "You do know that's not how it happened."

The question was implied. Hannibal sighed. "Look, Face. It was none of my business then, and it's none of my business now."

"You're wrong. It _does _matter, Hannibal," Face said firmly.

Hannibal turned to look at him. He was standing in the doorway, holding the sliding glass door open and letting the heat out of the house. It was further proof that he wasn't intending to have this conversation for very long.

"It matters what you think. It matters to him. Probably more than you know."

"If that's the case, then tell me what I need to think, Lieutenant."

Not the truth; he wasn't looking for that. Because he really didn't care. What he wanted was what he needed to believe, what he needed to say for Murdock's sake.

Face held his gaze steadily. "He's not, Hannibal. And just for the record, he was reacting, not initiating."

Hannibal watched him for a moment. But Face didn't continue. He simply turned, closed the door, and disappeared inside, leaving Hannibal alone in the silence on the back porch.

*X*X*X*

"I love you."

Murdock shut his eyes, blocking out the sound of her voice until he count pull his emotions under control. Still breathing hard, anger and adrenaline spent, he was overwhelmed by the swirling emotions in his head. He'd hurt her. He knew that. Why was she saying that to him, of all things?

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

He turned his head to look at her. Lying on her back beside him on the living room floor, she looked calm and peaceful. The bruises around her arms, in the shape of his hands, said otherwise. He hadn't hit her - he would _never _hit a woman, no matter how angry he was - but he knew he had hurt her.

She opened her eyes and watched him for a moment, then turned on her side, stroking her fingers across his sweat-slicked forehead. "Oh, come on, Murdock. Do you really think I'd bitch at you like that if I wasn't _trying _to get you to let go?"

His brow furrowed. "Trying to?"

Her fingers moved down to his chest, stroking lightly. "Last time you came here, it didn't do you a damn bit of good. You left just as cold as you'd been when you showed up." She paused for a moment. "I want you to talk to me. But you can't do that when you're too worked up to even think straight."

He stared at her for a moment. So she _had _been instigating. He sighed as he looked away. "You shouldn't do that."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not fragile, Murdock. I can take it. Besides..." Her fingers came up under his chin, turning his gaze back to her. She held it, smiling faintly. "I know you. You would never hit me, no matter how angry you are."

He stared at her, letting those words settle inside of him. Was it any wonder that he loved this woman the way he loved life itself?

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him slowly. His eyes lowered as she pulled away, to the marks on her arms where he'd held her.

"I did hurt you, though."

"Mmm... yes, and it was great."

He blinked, startled and confused. "It was?"

She laughed. "I've been trying for years to get you to let go like that."

"You have?"

Her smile was dark, but oddly, a little bit shy as she looked up at him through her lashes. "I told you. I'm not fragile. Romance is great, and you're very good at it. But this?" She leaned in closer, whispering directly into his ear. "This reminds me of that storage room. With the guns. And _that's _where I fell in love with you. It's where I knew you could handle that dark thing in me, and it wouldn't scare you."

He could feel his eyes widen. It was a shift in his way of thinking that caught him totally off guard. "You actually _like _that thing?" For so long, he'd been fighting to keep it under control, it had never even occurred to him that she would be trying to pull it out.

She laughed. "Of course I do. I've told you that."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

It was a good question. A fair one. The truth was, he'd always _heard_ her when she said that, but he'd never thought she could truly understand what she was saying. That dark part of him - the part that would treat a woman the way he had just treated her - was something no woman with self respect should want. She had self respect. So why on earth would she want to subject herself to that?

She let the silence linger for a long moment as she moved closer, kissing his throat and then setting her head on his shoulder, arm across his chest. "I wish you would talk to me."

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, finally pulling an arm around her. He let the confusion over what had just transpired between them fade into the background and instead focused on the question she'd just asked for the second time.

"Face was hurt," he finally answered. "By someone who used to be a friend."

"I figured somebody was." She paused. "Actually, I figured he was dead."

"He's not dead." Murdock felt a chill at the thought. He already wanted to kill Cruiser, and Face was going to make it out of this just fine. He couldn't imagine what he'd do to him if that weren't the case.

"Why wouldn't you just tell me that before, Murdock? Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"No. It's just... not the point."

"What's not?"

"I'm starting to remember, Bev."

"Remember what?"

"Things that... I forgot a long time ago."

She was quiet for a moment, letting her fingers trail over him lightly. "Is that a good thing?"

"No," he finally whispered. "It's not good. It hurts like hell, and I have a feeling it's gonna get worse."

She raised her eyes and studied him quietly. "Will you just talk to me when it does instead of trying to pretend that everything's fine?"

He closed his eyes, not answering.

"I know there are some things that are personal and private and whatever happens when you're out there working for that man falls under that category. But it _does_ matter, Murdock. _You _matter."

The feelings were back in full force. But instead of the chaotic, crushing force they were before, it was a very different feeling now - love so intense it made his chest ache. _It does_ _matter_... There were no words to explain what that meant to him.

Looking back into those eyes, he put his hand under her chin, holding it there as she continued in a soft whisper. "I don't want to lose you without even knowing why."

"You won't," he answered, a solemn promise he intended to keep if his life depended on it. He kissed her, letting that kiss express what he had no words for. When it came to a close he rested his forehead on hers and spoke against her lips. "I'm not leaving you without a fight. You mean too much."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was sitting on the deck, cigar in hand as he stared out at the freshly fallen snow. It was still coming down, light and soft. Wrapping herself tighter in her jacket before she stepped outside, Suzanne found herself wishing again for spring. It had been nearly two months since they'd seen the ground under all the snow.

He glanced up as she slipped out through the sliding glass door and closed it behind her. But he quickly looked away again. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly as she sat down beside him, leaning forward and pulling her knees up tight against her chest.

He nodded, glanced over at her, then sat back a little as he put an arm around her, pulling her in closer. Surprised by the gesture, but pleased, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Why did you push him so far?" she asked quietly.

"Who?"

"Murdock."

He glanced at her and she smiled tightly.

"Cameras," she explained. "BA and I were in the security room."

Of course. The cameras made privacy a moot point. From the look of regret, he'd apparently forgotten about that.

He sighed. "Destroy that conversation for me, will you? Last thing I need is Stockwell hearing all that."

"Already done."

He took a deep breath, then raised his cigar, taking a few slow, relaxing pulls before he finally answered her question. "Murdock is afraid of his anger. He always has been. He was like that when I met him, but the things that happened in Vietnam made it worse. He keeps everything inside, until he can't hold it anymore. Then he just sort of... explodes. Violently."

She frowned. "If that's the case, and given how much he's been drinking, do you think it was really wise to send him to Bev?"

"He won't hurt Bev."

"How do you know that?"

"Because in all the years I've known him, he's only ever hurt the subject of his anger."

"So you're the subject of his anger?"

"He wasn't trying to hurt me. If he was, he'd know right where to put the knife. That was just... blowing off steam."

She was quiet for a long moment. "So the subject of his anger... It's Cruiser?"

"Part of it. It's not the part I'm worried about, though."

"What's the part you're worried about?"

"There's a reason why I keep pushing him to go see her. When he starts self-destructing like this, he needs people around him that can help him to remember the things about himself that are _good_."

"He's angry at himself?"

"I'd say so, based on how many cartons of cigarettes and cases of vodka he's downed in the past two weeks."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, curiously. "You really know your men, don't you?"

"I should. I've spent a lot of years with them."

"But you watch them. Not just what they can do as part of the team but... You know them better than you'd ever let them know. You watch them closer than you want them to think."

He gave her a slight, knowing smile, hugging her just a bit closer. She smiled back, setting her head on his shoulder and relaxing into his embrace.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

BA liked the cold. Snow reminded him of home. Of Christmas morning when the house already smelled like pumpkin pie made the night before. Of sitting by the window as his father read him a story. He had very few memories of his father, but that was one of them.

Hands buried the pockets of his jacket, BA circled the house, noting every footprint in the snow and accounting for how it had gotten there. It was simply too cold to post adequate sentries outside. Stockwell didn't have enough men to make sure they switched off often enough to stay alert and focused. Instead, they posted guard at the windows and doors, from the inside. But before he went to bed for the night, for his own peace of mind, he did one final sweep himself.

He wandered down to the outpost closer to the road - the tiny cinderblock room attached to one of the telephone poles and looking very simple, as if the telephone company had put it there. Inside, he checked to make sure that both men who were monitoring the house through the surveillance system were awake and alert. There were always two, for that very reason.

Jonah and Matt - BA couldn't stand thinking of men as Abel Whatever-Number - were on duty tonight. That was good. BA had no strong feelings one way or another on Jonah, but he liked Matt. The man took his job seriously. If his job hadn't been to spy on them, they would've probably gotten along a lot better before now. But as things were, he was glad to see Matt in the control room.

Heading back up to the house, he was surprised when Hannibal met him halfway.

"I saw you heading down there," Hannibal greeted. He was trying to hide the worry in his tone, but he wasn't doing a very good job. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Relieved, Hannibal waited for BA to catch up, then headed toward the house at a slow, leisurely pace. "Any chance there's a backup copy somewhere of that conversation I had with Murdock earlier?"

BA shook his head. "Nah. I traced all the lines myself. They all go to the security room and they don't transmit no further."

"Good."

BA watched Hannibal out of the corner of his eye. "Think he went to see Bev?"

"I hope so."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Are you comfortable with staying in the house alone for a few hours? With Face?"

BA raised a brow. "You leavin' too?"

"Not far. The pool house."

BA almost smiled. As far as he was concerned, Hannibal going to spend some time in the pool house was a _good _thing. The man needed a break, same as they all did. Plus, it would help him think. Away from the cameras and the listening devices - and probably with Suzanne - he would have the space and freedom he needed to put his thoughts together. And although BA had nothing against this plan to make a move as soon as Cruiser made one, it would be better if Hannibal could figure a plan that involved less waiting. If nothing else, it would get this over with that much faster.

"I got it under control," BA said confidently.

"If you need anything, call me. I'll answer."

BA nodded. Leave it to Hannibal to put himself on call no matter what he was doing. Luckily, it wouldn't be necessary. "I'll take care of it, Colonel. You need a night off, too."

Hannibal clapped a hand on BA's shoulder, through the thick jacket, and split off towards the backyard as they came nearer to the house. BA watched him go, and smiled. Hannibal could never really take a night off; not while they were on alert like this. But hopefully he would at least be able to stand down for a few hours.

*X*X*X*

"Face?"

"What?"

Jessica paused. Her fingernails were raking lightly down his chest, avoiding the scars that were still sensitive. "How about you let me try?"

He opened his eyes, and stared up at the dark ceiling. The day had passed in conversation, a few restless circles through the house. He was a prisoner here, but at least she was here with him.

"Try what?"

She was quiet for a moment, then finally, she shifted. He opened his eyes and immediately locked gazes with her. "You remember being alone here? Two thousand miles away from me?"

He could literally feel something inside of him soften at the memory. "Of course."

She watched her hand, trailing slow and careful over his skin. "You'd call me on the phone and I'd talk to you..."

He smiled faintly at that. "I never called you from here. It wasn't safe. I went to a motel."

She smiled back, genuinely. "Remember, Face," she whispered. Her hand slowly came to his forehead and trailed down, shutting his eyes for him. "Close your eyes and remember."

Relaxed by her presence and calmed by her soothing touch, he let his mind wander over the memories. "Listening to my voice... Imagining my hands on you, touching all those places that felt good..."

He nodded, eyes closed, breathing deep and slow as he felt her hand move over his neck, his chest, lightly prodding at sensitive places.

"It was never about sex," she whispered. "It was about touching, feeling... The intimacy of knowing that even though I was far away, lying on my bed and wearing nothing but your shirt, I could see you in my mind just like you could see me."

He let her recount the memory - one of a hundred just like it. She planted soft, small kisses wherever she could reach - his jaw, his neck, his cheek, his lips. Her hand wandered over him, caressing places she knew well. They were the same places he knew. She knew him just as intimately as he knew himself.

"It feels good, Face. Just having you here with me. Your warm skin, soft hair. Your scent and taste. All those thing that are just like I remember..."

He breathed deep, listening to the sound of her voice. Feeling. Experiencing. She was warm and safe and soft. Her touch felt good. He concentrated on it as he slowly breathed, in and out, letting her control his world. It had never in his life felt so good, so _relieving _to simply... submit.

"That's it, Face." Nuzzling into his neck, she kissed and nipped the exposed skin from his shoulder all the way to his ear, speaking softly in between. "My lips on your skin... You taste so good..." She moved slightly, working her way under his chin, trailing kissed down his throat, over his Adams apple, the hollows of his neck.

He breathed slowly, letting his hand trail lightly over her body. He could feel his body responding, slow but sure, as he let her take control. His hand moved down, and hers followed right behind it - over his chest, palms flat, fingers splayed, carefully avoiding injuries. His touch skimmed over his groin before resting on the inside of his thigh. But she lingered, cupping him before she let her hand wrap around his shaft.

"I love touching you Face, I could do this forever."

His body responded, a soft moan escaping his lips when she stroked him the first time. Her kiss, her touch, her warm presence made his breathing stagger. He swallowed hard, eyes shut tight. He could feel his body reacting to her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No thought, no effort, no intent... just cause and effect, touch and response. He ran his fingers lightly down her arm, then back up as he felt the subtle excitement settle in.

"Jessie..."

The memories of those nights alone, those empty hotel rooms with her voice on the phone, how much he'd wanted to feel her here in this very bed, just like this. The fantasies that had played out, now here at his disposal. He breathed deep, hips pressing up into her hand. He wanted her. _Only _her. No other woman would do.

"Please..."

"What do you want, Face?"

He swallowed, turned his head, opened his eyes, and caught her gaze. "Go down on me."

She smiled, and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, before moving lower.

He had no thoughts, no goal, no plan. That also meant he had no control. She took him up fast – faster than he was expecting. Lips parted, he breathed hard, his hips thrusting against her mouth, nails scraping the bed sheets. There were no thoughts now, no memories. Only warmth and wetness and this feeling of safety and intimacy. He didn't try to hold back. As soon as she took him to the edge, he fell over it, releasing into her mouth with a cry of pleasure.

He came back down slowly, only vaguely aware of the soft kisses that fell on the inside of his thighs, then along his stomach, and up to his chest as she moved over him. He opened his eyes to see the satisfied smile on her face and managed to return it. "God, you are beautiful."

Her smile grew. "I love the way you taste."

He slid a hand into her hair and slowly pulled her down until her mouth touched his. Her lips parted naturally, letting his tongue slip inside, letting him taste the salt of his own fluids. She was smiling as she slowly pulled away and for just a moment, everything felt completely right.

"See?" she teased softly. "You taste good."

The loud clanging of the phone on the bedside table interrupted any answer he might have had. Lying still on his back, he let her lean over and pick it up, nearly falling off the side of the bed in the process. "Hello?"

He turned onto his side, reaching up to brush her long blonde hair back from her face. He pushed it back just in time to see the color drain completely out of her cheeks. Bad news. Immediately on alert, he watched her for a moment, and listened hard for the sound of the voice on the other end. It was unrecognizable at first, but he could make out the words.

"...always did love to suck cock."

Face bristled. That wasn't Hannibal. Or _any _member of his team. He sat up, eyes locked on her, listening. "Put Face on the phone." Her eyes shot to him, wide and frightened. "We have some unfinished business to discuss."

Everything that settled in Face was dead and cold as he reached out and slowly took the phone from her paralyzed hand. Raising it slowly to his ear, he took a slow, steadying breath, drawing out that anger that was seared right into the very fiber of his being.

"How did you get this number?"

"Oh, that was the easy part." Cruiser's voice was taunting, sadistic. Face felt his grip tighten around the phone. "Finding just the right moment to call it, now that was a little trickier. I didn't want to interrupt you two when she is so damn good at giving head."

How did he know that? Not about Jess, he was pretty sure how Cruiser knew that. How did he know what was happening _now_? Face's eyes swept the room. Curtains drawn, nothing out of place.

"Know what I find fuckin' hilarious, Face? All those gook whores in 'Nam, you went out of your way to make them scream your fucking name. And now you can't even keep it up for your own girl."

Nothing had changed. Except... His eyes came to rest on the flower arrangement that had been brought in that morning. Leaning over to grab it, he nearly pulled the phone onto the floor.

"Maybe you should get her a strap-on dick for Christmas. Or invite Flyboy over for the night. Bet you wouldn't have any trouble keeping it up then."

He found the transmitter. It was small - only about the size of his thumb. The anger that it kindled inside of him was palpable. "What do you want, Cruiser?" he growled.

"You," Cruiser answered. "Dead."

"Twenty years is a long time. Get the _fuck_ over it already."

"It is a long time. I've had twenty years of waiting and planning and practicing... perfecting exactly what I'm going to do to you."

"You're sick."

"I take it Stockwell has shown you my file by now."

"You've killed _dozens_ of innocent men," Face snarled, closing his hand tightly around the transmitter.

Cruiser laughed. "No, Face, I've killed hundreds."

"You are the most fucked up person I have ever met in my life, you know that?"

"That's flattering. Especially considering the amount of unfriendly cock you've sucked."

Face ignored the reference, and everything it was intended to make him feel. "You're taking a huge risk coming anywhere near here, Cruiser," he said low. "If I were you, I'd be running like hell right about now."

"Why is that?"

"Because you've got the best five man combat team the world has ever seen gunning _specifically _for you."

Cruiser chuckled again. "Terrifying."

Face's eyes slipped out of focus as he stared at the transmitter in his hand, wondering just how far it could reach. Dead, cold anger filtered in, as he considered the life of the man on the other side of the phone. When he spoke again, his voice was lacking anything even remotely close to sympathy. "You're going to die very badly."

Another quiet laugh, and Cruiser whispered his final words very softly, "You first..." before the phone went dead in Face's hand.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

Suddenly alone with Jessica, Face realized just how quiet the house was. He'd noted it before. It hadn't fazed him. There was security, and cameras, and he knew _someone _from the team would've stayed even if the rest of them left for food or whatever else. But there was no sound from the TV, no radio. That didn't mean anything...

Face tapped the cradle of the phone. It was dead. The line was cut. As he set the receiver down carefully, he reached under his pillow for the gun he knew was there, and slowly sat up. Aware of the transmitter that he wasn't sure was dead, and the fact that he didn't know for sure there weren't more, he leaned in close to Jessica and whispered in her ear, "Get dressed. Then I want you go into the closet. There's a loaded pistol on the top shelf. Hold onto it and stay in the closet. Don't come out until you hear my voice. Nod if you understand."

Jessica took in a deep and audible breath, and nodded.

"It'll be okay," Face whispered as he pulled away from her and carefully slid off the side of the bed. Never letting go of his gun, he slowly picked up his boxers off of the floor and stepped into them. He was watching the door, waiting, not sure what he was waiting for but ready all the same. He waited for the closet door to shut behind Jessica before he slowly opened the door to the bedroom.

The hallway was dark. The entire house was dark. Gun ready even though he couldn't see, he reached for the light switch, half expecting it to not work. It did. He was momentarily blinded by the flash of light, and took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he headed towards the living room. So silent. Where was everyone? They would have told him if they'd _all _left. And they wouldn't all leave to begin with. Not given everything that had happened. He knew Hannibal better than that. _Someone _was here.

Into the dark living room, his eyes scanned for movement. Nothing. The guards normally stationed at the entrances were missing. The TV had been on earlier. He walked closer, carefully, to see if it was still warm. Before he had a chance to touch it, a moving shadow on the wall made him spin back in the direction he'd come. His gun was immediately trained on Cruiser, leaning in the opening of the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Face's eyes widened immediately at the sight of the blood spattered across him. He was saturated in it, but apparently unarmed. And he was smiling.

"Lieutenant."

All of the adrenaline that had been flowing since he heard that voice on the phone suddenly had a focus. His weapon was out, up, ready. But Cruiser would've expected that. He'd also expected - rightly - that Face would look at what he was shooting before he fired. What he saw was an unarmed man. That wouldn't, in and of itself, have stopped Face if not for the fact that he knew Cruiser just wasn't that stupid. He wasn't unarmed. He was a psychopath, not suicidal. He had something up his sleeve. That instinct that had kept Face alive through a war and a thousand gunfights since was setting off warnings, so loud he couldn't pull the trigger.

"Cruiser," Face greeted him, emotionless and calm. It was an acknowledgement, nothing more or less.

Cruiser smiled. "Let me guess. You're thinking," he put a hand up to his temple sarcastically, as if tapping into some psychic power, "I should shoot him. But I don't know what his game is. Why the fuck would he be standing here in front of me unarmed?"

Face cocked the hammer of his revolver. "You have ten seconds."

Cruiser gave a half-shrug at that. Pushing off the wall, he took a few casual steps towards the sofa, keeping it between the two of them. "You probably should shoot me. I would. But then you'd have to find out what the hard way what my backup plan is. And I'll give you a clue. Everyone dies in the end."

He could be bluffing. There was a chance he wasn't. Face processed the situation, and options faster than he could follow. Where was everyone? Judging by the blood on Cruiser, Stockwell's foolproof security was probably dead. No idea where the team was. They all wouldn't have left without warning...

There was no panic at the thought, or the ones that necessarily followed. He couldn't allow it. His life and, more importantly, Jess's life depended on it. No team, no back up, the possibility of someone else - or several for that matter - roaming around while he was occupied and Jess hiding in a closet. It was the ultimate game of high stakes poker.

He was damn good at poker. He did what he felt was the only move. He called. "Show your hand, Cruiser. If it's good enough, you live. If not, I shoot you."

Cruiser crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned forward on the sofa. "Oh, why not." He paused for a moment. "I don't know about you guys, but working with Stockwell I got to use all sorts of neat new toys. Like long range transmitters," he held up a small black box from his pocket, "and remote control bombs that attach to things. Like the bottom of a gas tank. And before you even think it," his eyes darkened, dead and cold and evil, "do you _really _think I'd bullshit that? Or that I'd have any problem at all blowing your whole fuckin' team sky high?"

No, he didn't doubt it for a second. The only question is what course of action was going to buy enough time for the team to show, or for them to escape. The chance of escape with Jess in tow, with no outside help was just about none. He could shoot him right now, but that was one hell of a risk...

"Of course, you really don't know just who's in the van. All you know is there's a bomb on the underside of it. Want to gamble it all, Face?"

Before Face had a chance to respond, the sound of gunshot from the bedroom made Cruiser's head turn. But he didn't move and didn't seem the least bit disturbed by it. "Hmm, that wasn't one of my guns," he said casually.

Face's jaw clenched. It was a 9mm. Just like the one he'd told Jess to grab.

"You armed Jessica before you had her hide in the closet. Smart. You think she hit her target?" Cruiser glanced back. "That's kind of hard to do in the dark, when you're scared."

Slowly, Face eased the hammer down and lowered the gun. Cruiser had him on both counts - the team and Jessica. Unless she shot the guy, which he'd know soon enough. And if she did, he might have a chance of taking Cruiser before he flipped that goddamn switch. Unless there was a third person involved. No way to know.

"Shall we go find out who shot who?" he asked flatly.

"No need," Cruiser replied. "She'll join us in a minute, one way or another."

He crossed his arms again, loosely, and waited. He didn't move, and said nothing for several long moments, until he looked back to the hallway and smiled. "Here she comes now."

It was only a moment later that Jessica appeared around the corner, held by her hair. The relief he felt at seeing her alive was buried far under the anger of seeing her handled like that. And the anger was beneath a calm, cold exterior. The man behind her had a Colt 45 to her neck, pointed up under her jaw. He was masked, unrecognizable, and all in black - head to toe. Face frowned deeply at that. Why was he hiding his face? Cruiser was most likely planning to kill both of them, so why bother? Unless the cameras were still working. But that would lead to backup arriving pretty quickly. Face wasn't sure what to make of the outfit.

"Glad you could join us, Jessica," Cruiser said dryly before turning to look at Face again.

Face had no choice. He couldn't risk her. The team was their only hope for now. All he could do was keep Cruiser's attention focused away from Jess, and buy her as much time and safety as possible.

"So now what?" Face asked flatly, cold.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jess and the man who was holding her. She was scared - maybe closer to terrified - but appeared unharmed. That's what mattered.

"Now you're gonna put your gun on the coffee table," Cruiser said flatly. His voice dropped to something cold and dead and hollow with his next words. "And then you're gonna get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head."

*X*X*X*

BA's eyes opened. Pain. It was the first thing he was aware of. The only thing that made sense. Hand to his chest, he felt hot, sticky blood. But he could still breathe, and that meant his lungs weren't full of fluid. He'd woken up, and that meant his heart was intact. He felt for the wound. Shoulder. Shattered. Excruciating. An inch lower, and he would've been dead.

Where was he? Why was he on the floor? Gritting his teeth hard at the pain, he pulled himself up, onto his knees. His gun was still on the floor beside him, where he'd dropped it when he was hit. Hit. Bullet? No. That seemed obvious, but it also felt wrong. At least, it felt incomplete. Sitting up against the wall, he reached up and felt blood on the side of his head. He'd hit it on the way down. The table in the hallway. The memories returned slowly.

_Face..._

The sound hadn't been enough to alert him that something was wrong, only that something could be. He opened his door. It was the last thing he remembered except... there were two of them. And they'd been waiting. They'd hit him so hard and so fast - the blows to the throat, the groin, and then the knee... shit, his leg was broken... - that the bullet had been an afterthought. He was already falling when he felt the pain.

Voices. He could hear voices. One voice. Cruiser. He closed his eyes, breathed as deep as the pain in his chest would allow. Security cameras everywhere. They had to know, in the shack out by the road, what was going on in here. Why weren't they responding? Where was the team? Hannibal was in the pool house. Murdock had taken the van somewhere. And he'd called, not long ago. Said he was on his way home and bringing... something. Slowly, he was remembering.

The van had a phone.

It took every ounce of self control BA could muster to remain silent as he crawled on his side back into his room. He was losing blood, and losing consciousness again. But he had to make it to the bedside table and the phone there.

He stopped beside the nightstand, and for a long moment, it was all he could do to stay conscious. Finally, with his last act of strength, he reached up and pulled the phone down. It fell on his lap with a clang, and he winced at the sound that it made. But he couldn't do anything about that, and he was fading fast. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of silence from the telephone. The wire had been cut.

He faded into blackness again.

***X*X*X***

There was something about abject humiliation, being forced to the floor by the mere words of his enemy, that made Face's blood boil. A half dozen insults were on the tip of his tongue. But he kept them behind tightly clenched teeth as he lowered to his knees. As long as Jessica had a gun to her neck, Face wasn't going to say a word.

"Not so pretty anymore with your face messed up," Cruiser sneered, trailing the flat edge of his knife over the still-healing wound on Face's cheek. Face shut his eyes, gritting his teeth at the pain as Cruiser turned the blade around and traced the line of the wound, reopening it. But he didn't flinch, didn't make a sound.

"Life's a bitch, ain't it?" Cruiser snarled.

"Funny, I thought this guy behind me here was your bitch," Jessica taunted from a few feet away. Face knew what she was doing - any word, any thought that might piss Cruiser off and drag the attention onto herself. It was exactly what he would've done.

"Or do you like the bottom now? Huh, Cruiser?"

Cruiser didn't acknowledge her. Face didn't look at her. He just drew in a slow, even breath, adjusting to the pain - it would continue, he knew - and addressed her with a calm no man in his position should've possessed. "Don't, Jess."

She gave a harsh, humorless laugh, ignoring him. "What's wrong, Cruiser? Are you afraid of me now? I mean, you brought a date just to keep me away?"

She was reaching. She was desperate. But at the moment, there wasn't a damn thing Face could do or say about it.

"Sad really," Jess continued. "Didn't think you could handle me yourself?"

Cruiser's hand never stopped its slow, methodical design on Face's cheek, down to his neck. It wasn't deep, but it was deep enough. Face could feel the blood running all the way down to his chest. "Keep it up, Jessica," Cruiser said, amused. "I'll fuck you right here on this floor while he watches."

Face opened his eyes slowly and glared up at him, jaw clenched. That was exactly what she wanted, and Cruiser knew it. He also knew it was exactly what Face _didn't _want. He could handle pain. Nothing Cruiser could do to him was new under the sun. He'd live through it or he wouldn't, but either way, he wasn't afraid. The fact that Jessica was involved in this scene was far more frightening to him.

"Jessica, _stop_!" Face said forcefully. "Now!"

Cruiser smiled down at him. He was tilting his head, looking at Face like he was a work of art - a canvas that was being decorated. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I decide who gets to be the martyr in this scene."

Face saw her move the moment she flinched. Even with his back partially turned to her, so did Cruiser. Whatever she did to make the man behind her cry out in pain, Face had no opportunity to see it. He didn't need to. He reacted on instinct alone. He ducked back and grabbed for Cruiser's arm. But it was only a quick turn of his wrist and Face's hand wrapped around the blade instead. He would've held on if not for Cruiser's other fist between his eyes. Sprawling back on the carpet, he had just enough time to look up and see Jessica lunge for the gun. Cruiser spun, and the hand with the knife caught her across the face.

"No!"

He didn't have time to see if it was the blade or the back of Cruiser's hand that caught her and threw her, sprawled, into the wall. He was moving again, on instinct, for the gun. But before he had a chance to wrap his hand around the grip, a bullet hit the table just to the side of it, from the man who was still cursing in pain. Face looked up into the barrel of the gun. The next one would be through his head. More importantly, Cruiser was pulling Jessica up by the hair, slamming her back into the wall with the knife across her throat.

"You try anything like that again and I'll make your face match his," Cruiser growled angrily.

Face withdrew his hand from the table, knowing there was no chance in hell he'd get that weapon up, cocked, and fired before Cruiser cut her throat. Especially not with a gun on him. "Leave her alone, Cruiser." He was trying for "threat" but it sounded more like a plea. "She's got nothing to do with this."

Cruiser didn't answer him. Inches apart, Jessica and Cruiser stared each other down over the blade of a dagger. Her eyes were watering, the bruise already forming where he'd hit her. "Besides," Jessica snarled at him. "I thought you only did boys now."

Cruiser growled audibly. "Let's find out."

Grabbing her by the hair, he threw her down, face-first into the carpet. The instinctive lunge from Face was cut short by another warning bullet from the man who was still not putting weight on his foot and was still growling like he was pissed as all hell. That meant he was also unpredictable. Whether or not it was Cruiser's intent to shoot him in the head, Face had no way of predicting the other guy. Especially now that he was hurt and angry.

Cruiser bent down, close to her ear, his heavy hand on her head ground her cheek into the floor. Face couldn't hear what he whispered to her, but it made her struggle suddenly, violently. Face didn't think. The anger didn't let him think. He lunged, ducking from the gun at the last second, fully expecting the pain of a bullet wound or - hell - sudden blackness if the guy had any aim.

He didn't. Whether because the man was in pain, because Face was too close to Cruiser to take the risk, or because his reaction time was just plain horrible, Face wasn't sure and didn't care. He went for the knife with one hand, Cruiser's throat with the other, and bowled him over backwards. The next few seconds were a blur of motion and adrenaline-filled struggle.

But the sound of gunshot, and Jessica's scream of pain was far too distracting to ignore. In the split second lapse, Cruiser had time to pull Face's arm up onto the coffee table, pull another knife from God-knows-where, and suddenly the dagger was clear through his forearm - between the two bones - with enough force to drive it out the bottom of the particle-board table. The pain was so blinding, and so unexpected, Face couldn't hold back the scream.

Another blow landed across his cheek. He was too stunned to react, unable to even draw a breath. His mind was awash with endorphins released by pain and fear and adrenaline. Falling against the table, his head bounced off of his arm. Dizzy and confused, he instinctively tried to pull himself up. But he was nailed to the table in a gathering pool of hot blood. Pulling on his arm only sliced further into it, and he cried out again in pain as he resolved to stay completely still until he could figure out what was happening. Right now, he was so confused by the blurry world around him - the blood and the pain and the frantic beating of his heart in his ears - he couldn't think.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath, he tried to pull it together. Jessica was on the floor, bleeding from a gaping wound in her shoulder. She screamed as Cruiser put his knee on it, pinning her down, but he had a hand over her mouth almost instantly. "Shut up! I didn't say you could scream!"

Cruiser had a hold of her with one hand, and the 9-mil everyone was so desperate to get to in the other. He pushed it right to her forehead as he held her down, hand across her throat, cutting off her air. "Both of you are too fucking heroic for your own good, you know that?"

Through the pain, and the sudden confusion it created, Face heard the tone even more than the words. He turned his head and caught her eyes for just a moment before she shut them hard, teeth gritted against the pain. "Look at him," Cruiser ordered.

_Look at me, Jess..._

She didn't comply fast enough. He pulled her up just enough to slam her head back down onto the floor. "_Look _at him!"

Slowly, she opened her eyes as Cruiser continued in that low, ice cold voice. "I want him to think about the look in your eyes when you died."


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

There was no air in Jessica's lungs, and no way to draw more in. No way to scream at the pain. No way to speak as she opened her eyes to look at Face. She could hear him breathing, smell the hot, copper scent of his blood and her own.

_"I wasn't really sure where else to go." His injuries were three days old, but she could still smell the blood. _

_ "You're always welcome here. There's nothing to be sorry about." What had happened to him? Beaten and bloody and bruised. Where had he been for the past week? "But I would like you to tell me what brings you to my doorstep at two in the morning, looking like you've been to hell and back."_

_ "Funny you should say that."_

_ "Why is that funny?"_

_ That look in his eyes - that piercing, haunting look - took her breath away._

_ "Because I have."_

Her confused thoughts scattered, wandering first to one memory, then another, then back to the present, and the man whose gaze she was somehow lost in. Face. _Her _Face. There was pain in his eyes, and there was peace. Safety. She could feel the dizziness as the blood loss set in. So hard to breathe. But she was safe as long as he was near.

_ "I'm not going to let anything hurt you, Jessie." _

_ She closed her eyes and rested her head against his warm shoulder, drawing strength from him. She believed every word he said. He didn't have to convince her. Face would move heaven and earth to protect her, there was no place in the world as safe as being with him. Nothing could touch her when she was in his arms._

_ "I know," she whispered back, nuzzling into him. _

_ "Just relax. Let down your guard." His arms were warm and tight around her. Comforting. "Nothing's going to hurt you as long as I'm here."_

Cruiser had been her boogey man for so long - the beast in her closet that threatened her in the night. The thing she thought she feared most. At least until she'd seen Face kneel calmly in front of a sociopathic killer. One who tortured and raped his victims before killing them. One who had already tried to kill him once before.

She'd known then that they wouldn't get out of this alive. But still, she had to try. Seeing him, still scarred and battered from the last time, looking so much like James... How could she not try? How could she not lay it all on the line for him?

She closed her eyes tight against the pain, against the failure. There was too much pain to even think of fighting the monster on top of her. They were done. She had tried, but it was useless. The cold metal of a gun barrel was right between her eyes.

_ "Next time I'm gone when you need me here... alone in the dark... remember how this feels." _

_ She could feel him inside of her, touching all of those intimate places that were his to touch as his lips and hands caressed her body._

_ "Turn off all the lights, make it dark and silent... and remember me inside of you... making love to you... making your whole body sing for me."_

_ His words were hypnotic, set in time to the rocking of their bodies. Intimate, safe and warm. And never alone. "Face, I love you."_

_ "I love you, too, Jessica."_

Some little voice in the back of her head wondered what would happen to James and Heather. She couldn't help but mourn the fact that she wouldn't be around to see them find the person they loved and grow into the people they would become. Thank God they were in college; they were old enough now to be okay without her...

Cruiser was talking. She couldn't hear him. Couldn't understand him. Her eyes were fixed entirely on Face as he fed her strength and comfort. _Thank God_, she thought. _Thank God he's going to kill me first_. She wasn't afraid of dying. Not half as much as she was afraid of watching him die. She wasn't strong enough to make it without him, not like this, not even for a few minutes.

_ "Sentence was expected to be carried out this morning at eight o'clock, and we are currently awaiting confirmation." _

_ Nine minutes after eight. Was he alive? Had he been executed this morning, the way the news reports had been expecting? He had to be alive. She'd never even had a chance to say goodbye..._

Tears blurred her vision. Face was still trying to catch his breath. Blood and pain choked him. But he met her eyes nonetheless, feeding her strength. It was a long moment before he spoke. And then it was barely audible. "It's okay," he said haltingly. "It's over."

Cruiser moved slightly, pressing on her hurt shoulder. She screamed again, fighting the black spots behind her eyelids, she was so close to unconsciousness. But if this was the last moment she had to tell him, she had to let him know it was okay. Swallowing pain and nausea, she opened her eyes and looked at him. As her life flashed before her eyes - Momma, the kids, Vietnam, graduation, and finally, Face - she realized she was smiling even through the pain. For those intimate moments, those moments of happiness he had given to her, this end was every bit worth it.

The arm that was not fixed to the coffee table reached toward her. He was just barely close enough to touch her fingers. There were tears streaming from in his eyes - whether from the pain or the emotion, she couldn't tell.

"I'll see you soon, baby." His voice was shaky, but still somehow calm and collected. Infinitely reassuring. "I love you."

He never ceased to amaze her. "I love you too, Face." _Thank you, God, for giving him to me_. "I'll be waiting for you."

She closed her eyes as she felt his bloody fingers caress hers. So much pain. But it was almost over. She smiled as she held his gaze, feeding off of his strength. She would see him soon. He said it, and she believed it. She breathed as deep as the pain would allow, and exhaled her last breath with a soft smile on her lips.

*X*X*X*

The couch in the pool house wasn't half as expensive or nice as the one in the main house; none of the furniture was. Still, it seemed infinitely more comfortable, somehow. Curled naked on the sofa beneath the warm blanket, Hannibal breathed deep and slow as his hand moved slowly over Suzanne's hip and down her thigh - a warm and soft caress.

"We should get up," she whispered. "If Murdock comes back..."

His hand moved up to her hair, rubbing his thumb against the base of her skull. "He won't."

"Why not? It's his house."

He didn't doubt that Murdock would be on his way back by now. He wouldn't stay the night with Bev, even if he should. He wouldn't leave Face for that long. He didn't even want to be as far as the pool house for more than a few hours. In the past two weeks, he'd slept more often on the sofa than anywhere else. Or, sometimes, on the living room floor.

"He wants to be as close to the team as he can get. It's instinct."

"An instinct you share?"

He smiled, and left a soft kiss just beneath her ear. "We've been here for one hour and twenty-two minutes, if that's what you're asking. And if BA wasn't inside, I would've already been in at least once to check on things."

She sighed as she turned slowly, carefully teetering on the edge of the sofa so that she could look at him. He could see the worry in her tired eyes. Very slowly, she traced her fingers along his cheekbone, down further to his lips. Finally, she smiled faintly.

"You really do amaze me, Hannibal. The way you keep this up, indefinitely."

"We're waiting on him to make a move," he reminded her quietly. "I fully expect him to make it. I want to be ready when he does."

She nodded, then kissed his lips lightly before she pulled away, drawing the blanket with her. He sat up as she stood, wrapping herself up and she walked slowly to the window. He sat up, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He was tired. It was time for one last check of the grounds before he went inside to bed.

"Hannibal?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She hesitated a moment, then shook off the hyper vigilance. "Nothing. I think the kids down the street are shooting off the last of their New Years Eve fireworks."

Hannibal frowned, and stood to his feet. "Get dressed and grab your weapon."

It was probably nothing. But Suzanne was relieved that he was going to check it out nevertheless.

*X*X*X*

Face flinched at the sound of the shot. It was an involuntary reaction; his entire body jerked as his eyes shut. But when he opened them again, he saw Jessica still looking back at him, still shaking with pain and the natural adrenaline response of being so close to death. The barrel of the gun was smoking, but the bullet was in the floor.

Jessica shut her eyes, wincing at the pain of every breath. Slowly, Face's gaze rose to Cruiser, who was staring back at him with a look that was a mix of curiosity and sadism. Face swallowed hard, knowing full well what that look meant.

"Don't," he whispered. It was a plea. He didn't try to hide that fact. "It's over. You win. Just end it."

Never in a million years had he ever envisioned himself begging for Jessica's death. But he saw in Cruiser's eyes, in that moment, just how much more evil the man was capable of. And there were some things much worse than death. She was ready. She would bleed out anyways from that hole in her chest in a matter of minutes. He didn't want her to go through the pain. And the team, wherever they were, had not come to save them.

The guilt they would feel later, if they were even still alive, would be crippling. When they found his body beside Jessica's, lifeless on the living room floor. Murdock wouldn't survive that kind of guilt. Hannibal and BA... perhaps they could lean on each other and at least live through it. In any case, that was all out of his hands. The thoughts could be entirely for nothing if the team was already dead. And there was no way to know that they weren't. Cruiser was capable of anything, and the fact that they hadn't responded yet spoke volumes.

"End it," Face said, eyes locked on Cruiser.

"That would be easy, wouldn't it?"

Face tried to move as Cruiser levered his weight off of her, but the blinding pain in his arm stopped him. Her fight was gone - it was bleeding all over the floor. She wouldn't get up on her own.

"Cruiser, let her go."

"Perfect end to a fuckin' tragedy." Cruiser stood, keeping the gun pointed at Jess. "Romeo and fuckin' Juliet."

Face turned, grabbed the blade, and pulled it as hard as he could with his other hand. But it was an awkward grip, lubricated by blood, and his hand slipped. Cruiser was on his feet. Turning to look over his shoulder, he glanced at the masked man who was standing at some distance, watching with his pistol still in hand.

"Take her somewhere," he ordered, almost casually. "Kill her when you're done with her."  
Face finally pulled the knife free and lunged for Cruiser. But the amount of blood he was losing from his arm was already starting to make him dizzy and off balance. In seconds, Cruiser had him pinned to the wall with the blade under his throat as he watched the other man grab Jessica by the hair and drag her caveman-style into the other room. She cried out at first, weakly, but was unconscious before she made it to the hallway.

Weak, nauseated, dizzy, and confused, Face brought his eyes into focus on Cruiser. "What do you want from me?" he hissed. "I've got nothing left to give you."

"You're breakin' my fuckin' heart."

A quick punch to his gut and Face doubled over. The blow, coupled with the nausea he already felt, was more than enough to start him heaving. As he dropped to his knees, Cruiser's boot hit his chest with enough force to crack his ribs and throw him onto his back. Then there were hands around his throat, dragging him into unconsciousness as his air supply slowly dwindled.

"Do you know how painful plastic surgery is, Face?" Cruiser growled. "Years and years of it. Locked up in the house because your whole head is bandaged. Breaking and re-breaking bones because it's just not quite right. By the time the wonderful world of medicine catches up with being able to do what you need it to do, you've gone through years and years of pain just sitting and waiting for the day when you get to get even for it all."

Face's jaw clenched, anger boiling up inside of him in spite of the panic screaming in his mind. As Cruiser's grip loosened - he didn't actually want Face unconscious - the first words he managed were full of venom.

"Spare me the melodrama, Cruiser," he growled. "You turned on your team. You got what you deserved."

The blow that hit Face's already-broken nose was hard enough to make his head ring. Dizzy, half-conscious, floating, he lost track of Cruiser's words as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	31. Chapter Thirty

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

Murdock damn near slid right into Stockwell's limo on the turn into the driveway. Wheels spinning on the ice, he pulled to the side of the driveway and was out of the car just as Stockwell and two other armed men emerged. Stockwell immediately addressed him with a cold, serious tone.

"Captain, I was under the impression that you would be -"

Murdock moved, ignoring him completely. He was here. That meant something was wrong. He wasn't moving towards the house and the lights were off. That meant something was _very _wrong.

"I advise you to be cautious!" Stockwell's voice was background noise as Murdock pulled his pistol and raced to the front door. "The security cameras have been disabled. There may well be..."

His warnings faded into the background as Murdock pulled open the door and stepped inside, almost tripping over a body lying just on the other side of the threshold. Abel 2. No doubt now. Danger. He cocked the gun, ready.

No movement. Sound from one of the rooms down the hall. His heart was beating in his ears. Deafening. With one eye on the darkness he couldn't see, he moved slowly towards the hallway, one step after another. He could smell the blood. But there was no screaming. No sound. A flash of panic - was he too late? - and he forced it down. He couldn't think about that. He just had to move.

*X*X*X*

Flashes of light, dizzying in the darkness, made Jessica aware of herself. Pain - dull and sharp, achy and throbbing - everywhere. Too much. She tried to pull back, receded into that comforting blackness where it was safe, unfeeling. But the pain wouldn't let her go. She was moving, falling, then laying flat on her back. Sharp intensity. Fresh pain screamed down her side. It drew a scream from her, but it sounded so much weaker to her ears than it did in her head.

Hands. Face? Only Face touched her there. No, it was not Face. Hard hands, hurting, harsh unfamiliar hands. Unfamiliar voice uttering words that she couldn't make out. Too much buzzing in her ears. Something from far away. She was far away.

What was happening? Where was she? Face? Darkness, interrupted by more pain. Pressure, weight on her, strange smell, metallic, acrid, sharp. It felt _wrong_! She needed to get away. Trapped. Unable to breathe. Pain. Face? She needed Face...

Flashes of memories through the pain and the darkness. His voice in her ear, his hand on hers. _"It's okay. It's over."_

Calm, tranquil. Lost to pain, thrusting. She didn't want to see, she didn't want to know what was being done to her. Worse, what was being done to Face. He was hurt - desperation and panic. He was begging.

_Please don't beg, Face. I'm so sorry. I wanted you to be the one left alive. I can't survive this alone. Too weak..._

Sharp breath, new pain. He was broken. She broke him by being weak. Hot tears on her cheeks, squeezing out past tightly shut eyes. Waiting, pain, sorrow - all real but far away. Distant. Cold. She was cold. She was dying. Finally. Face...

Explosion. She barely heard it. The sound of gunshots rang in her mind, her memories. Hot, sticky blood covered her, enveloping her, welcoming her to her death. Eyes closed and floating in black nothingness, it was getting harder and harder to breathe. She felt like there was a weight on her chest, pushing down, crushing her. Then it was gone, and the confusion set in. Was it over? Was she gone? Where was Face?

"Jessica."

She heard the voice that called her name. It wasn't Face. Hands on her - she had no will or care to fight them. But these were different. That voice was different.

"Jess, look at me."

Fingers on her throat - not holding her. What was he doing?

"Open your eyes and look at me, Jessie."

Oh, God, did she have to? She was so damn tired. And everything hurt so damn much. So easy to just let go. Face would be there soon. She was waiting for him.

"Come on, Jessie, come on. Just keep breathin', Jessie. Stay with me."

_ "Talk to me, Jessie. Tell me what you want."_

_ The gentle tone matched the gentle touch, coaxing her response. But it was such a strange thing to hear from his mouth. _

_ "Don't call me that."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "You make me think of my brother. He's the only one who ever called me that."_

_ Face grinned. "Well now you've had two people call you that."_

Face... Were was he? He had promised he would be here soon. Was he here? Her eyelids were so damn heavy. She struggled to try to open them. It was a bit easier to breathe now, with the weight off of her chest, but it _hurt_.

"Face?"

_Please let him be here..._

With all the energy she had, she got her eyes to open. She was staring up at a man she knew should be familiar. Holding eye contact with her, he clenched her hand tight. "Hold on for me, Jess," he whispered. "I'm gonna go get Face. You hold on 'til he gets here, you understand me?"

Brown eyes, big and full of emotions. Gentle hands. Firm, rich comforting voice. Smell of leather and outdoors. Safe. He was safe. He was a part of Face, and Face was a part of him. Same and different, but both good and safe. That didn't make sense, but logic was too hard to think about. Her heart knew him, even if she didn't know his name. Instinct was all she had left.

"Answer me. Do you understand?"

She gave the faintest nod. It hurt too much to speak. He grabbed the blanket and pressed it to the wound on her shoulder. She would've screamed at the pain if she'd had the energy. Instead, it was a fight just to breathe.

"Stay right here until I get Face."

Then he was gone, and she was alone.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal knew when he saw the limo in the driveway that something was wrong. From that moment on, he moved at double the speed. Across the lawn and throwing the back door open. He didn't think about it. He just moved. Surprise was always his advantage, and time was not on his side when he didn't know just how long it had been.

Everything happened at once. Like a wild animal interrupted halfway through his meal, Cruiser looked up in the darkness and locked eyes with him. But in just the time it took Hannibal to lift his hand, he'd dove behind the sofa. Hannibal had no regard for the leather furniture. He was ready with another clip as he emptied the first. There was barely even a pause. But the darkness was on Cruiser's side, as was the number of exits from this room. The sliding glass doors shattered in front of him and he went right through them rather than pausing to open the door.

He gave thought to chase. Murdock, who suddenly appeared in the mouth of the hallway, covered in blood, actually did move to chase. But Hannibal stopped him. "No!"

Murdock spun, eyes wide, and waited for orders.

"Find BA. Now!"

Murdock sprinted back into the hallway. Hannibal turned to Suzanne.

"Stockwell ought to be arriving any second. Tell him if he wants Cruiser, he's only got as long as it takes him to reach the perimeter."

Suzanne was gone too, instantly, in a dead run. Hannibal's attention turned to Face, and he knelt down beside him just as Murdock appeared in the hallway. "BA's got a hole in his shoulder and he's unconscious and Jessica's bleeding out," he raced, so fast he was nearly tripping over his own words. "I need more hands and a hospital."

"Face?"

Hannibal checked for a pulse. It was strong. Face's eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

"Jessica," he choked. "I'm fine. Help Jessica."

He wasn't fine, but he was coherent and had a strong pulse.

"Can you hold a gun?"

He nodded, and reached up an open, bloody hand for the revolver Hannibal placed in it.

Murdock was gone. Hannibal pulled Face closer to the wall, where he had some cover, then started down the hall. At the door to BA's room, Stockwell was surveying the scene in the darkness. Hannibal thought briefly to put a bullet in him, but decided against it, pushing past to where one of the Abels was kneeling next to BA.

"Move!" he ordered. "Get me the first aid kit that's in the top drawer of my dresser. Now!"

"There is an ambulance on the way, Colonel," Stockwell informed calmly.

In a sudden burst of anger that Hannibal couldn't quite contain, he spun and leveled the gun directly at Stockwell. "You get your men out there and find that son of a bitch before he leaves this property!" he yelled. "And so help me, if I find out you did or knew _anything _that caused this, I will put a bullet in your skull."

*X*X*X*

"What can I do?" Suzanne asked, standing beside the bed as Murdock held pressure to the open, bleeding mass that was once Jessica's shoulder.

"Call an ambulance," Murdock answered.

"I did. From the phone in the van. The lines in here are cut."

"Come here."

She moved closer, and he took her hand, putting it where his had been against Jessica's shoulder. "Right there," he ordered as he moved back. "Talk to her. If she comes to, keep her conscious as long as possible. Keep an eye on her breathing. Do you know how to do CPR?"

"Yes."

"If she stops breathing," bloody and a bit off balance, Murdock stumbled to his feet, "yell for me. I'll help."

Suzanne nodded. Murdock cast one last look at Jessica before he stumbled to the door, down the hall, and into the living room. Face's eyes didn't track him the way he'd hoped. In fact, he was unconscious. Murdock took the gun from his hand carefully before he shook him.

"Face! Face, wake up!"

But Face didn't wake up.

*X*X*X*

Some training was impossible to forget. Like how to fire a gun, or salute, or stand in formation. Or dress a teammate's open, bleeding, life-threatening wound.

"BA, can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me, BA."

Stop the bleeding. His skin was clammy and cold.

"Open that," he ordered the man beside him, tossing the package of gauze at him.

Compliance was instant. It couldn't be fast enough. Holding his own shirt - the thing that had been most readily available - to the wound on BA's shoulder, he checked again for a pulse. Steady but slow.

"Look at me, BA."

Fluttering eyelids. With great, painful effort, BA's eyes opened slightly and quickly shut again. His body shook, and a sound almost like a sob escaped his lips. It ended with a moan, and a slurred, "Hurts..."

Dressing over the wound. Hannibal worked quickly and efficiently, glancing up at the man across from him. "You ever set up an IV?"

Wide eyed, the man shook his head.

"Then get me Murdock. Now."

He complied instantly. Hannibal glanced up just long enough to see that Stockwell had left the room. "Face..." BA's eyes were open again, and he was staring up at Hannibal weakly. "Where's...?"

"He's alright, BA. Just stay with me."

With a shaky hand, BA reached up and grabbed Hannibal's arm. The strength of his grip was surprising. But it was all the effort he could spare before his eyes slid closed again and he let his head rest heavy against Hannibal's hand. He was hanging on to consciousness, but just barely.

*X*X*X*

Murdock felt nothing. All of the blood and imminent danger had somehow put him right back into a strange sort of survival mode he'd left in the jungle of Vietnam. Still listening for Suzanne's call, and for the sound of sirens, it suddenly occurred to him that this is what it must have felt like to the teams on the ground waiting for a medevac while their teammates died.

Murdock followed orders without thinking. He knew this role. He'd hung bags as a volunteer in bloody dispensaries in Vietnam to do it in his sleep. And as he slowly reverted to training and memories he hadn't used in damn near twenty years, his efficiency improved. He had an IV hung and ready for Hannibal in a few short minutes. He was on autopilot. He knew he wasn't actually coping half as well as the steady hands made him look. But right now, the appearance was all that really mattered.

Hannibal held BA's hand steady and slid the needle into the vein on the first try. For some reason Murdock couldn't identify, that was comforting to him. Hannibal had always been calm and steady under pressure. This time was no different, even given the horror they were facing.

"Don't let him move his shoulder, Murdock."

Murdock froze.

_ "Come on, Colonel, I don't know how long BA can hold him."_

_ The voices made no sense. Human voices in the mouths of evil, shifting monsters with blood red eyes and sharp claws. They held him still as they talked amongst themselves about how they would kill him._

_ "It's going to take all three of us to hold him down, Hannibal."_

_ "Morphine. Get it."_

_ "It's right here." _

_ More hands on him. He fought with everything he had. He felt no pain beyond the panic of realizing they meant to drug him first. He didn't want to be drugged. If they were going to kill him, he would go out fighting, damn it!_

_ "Get him on the ground."_

_ His shoulder screamed with pain, crippling him. Broken fingers, broken thoughts, nothing mattered but the will to survive. Facedown in the mud, one of them pulled his unhurt arm behind his back and put his knee in place to lock it down. Another man held his feet. Still another used his knees to hold down Murdock's wrist, turning his arm and shoving the dripping, blood-soaked sleeve up as far as he could. _

_ Murdock screamed again as their talons ripped at his flesh._

_ "Don't let him move his shoulder, BA."_

"Murdock!"

Shaking off the confusion - a nightmare? another long lost memory? - Murdock blinked a few times. As if waking up out of a sleep, he had to completely reacquaint himself with what was happening.

"Blood pressure cuff, I said!"

Automatic responses took over again as he took hold of BA's arm.

_"Don't let him move his shoulder, BA..."_

It took Murdock a few seconds to find BA's pulse and read the needle on the cuff. "86."

"That's not good."

"Murdock!"

Suzanne's call was almost immediately followed by the sirens.

"Hannibal, I gotta go help Jess."

Hannibal nodded. "Go."

*X*X*X*

The sheet Suzanne was holding was wet and heavy with blood. Too much blood. Forcing herself not to think of Hannibal, or the nightmarish scene in the rest of the house, Suzanne had shifted all of her focus and training to the too pale woman bleeding out in front of her eyes. There was nothing she could do for the others right now, only trust Hannibal to take care of it, and trust his men to take care of him. The only thing she could, the only thing she was sure they needed from her at this moment was to take care of Jessica Summers.

And she had stopped breathing.

It wasn't Suzanne's first time giving CPR to a dying woman. But the adrenaline didn't let her think about all of the things she would think about later. It was not half as glamorous as the movies made it seem. Death never was. The taste of vomit and blood and cum was on her mouth. And Suzanne didn't hesitate.

She had memorized and cataloged everything about the room; including Jessica and the dead man on the floor. Life as an agent had taught her the value of knowing and remembering the details - even the ones that seemed unimportant. And this was work. It had to be; that was the only way of thinking that allowed her to remain in control.

Aside from the very large bullet hole in her shoulder, Jessica had bruising to her face and neck. There were also red welts, some of them bleeding, on her torso - deep scratches and human bite marks. After this, she would have a few broken ribs, too. If she lived.

Murdock was beside her. CPR was easier with two people. They didn't speak, except to count. The sirens grew louder, then stopped right outside. Voices in the hallway. Abel 3 and 16, and paramedics.

"In here!"

The paramedics were in the room, with their gurney, in an instant. Suzanne and Murdock both moved back. "She's not breathing for about a minute and a half," Suzanne said, turning her head to try and spit the taste from her mouth. She wasn't successful. "Thirty-eight years old, single large caliber gunshot wound to the right shoulder, sexual assault. She's..."

Suzanne suddenly realized there were tears streaming down her face. Jesus, when had that started? She hadn't even been aware of it. But the lull in the adrenaline made her suddenly realize a lot of things. Like the fact that she was shaking. Her eyes moved away from the paramedics to the man on the floor. Harrison's partner.

She took a step toward him, then knelt down, ignoring the shocked expressions from the Abels as she pulled the blood-soaked ski mask off the man. There wasn't enough of his face left to make an ID. Who ever had pulled the trigger - BA or Murdock - had done a very thorough job. It wasn't until she saw the small, X-shaped scar just under the chin that the pieces feel into place with stomach-clenching certainty. Caucasian, approximately 5'9, 200 pounds, short dark hair, scar just under the chin. Son of a bitch. Part of the mystery of "how did this happen?" was solved with terrifying clarity.

"Able 8, Stockwell wants to see you." Able 16's voice cut through Suzanne's thoughts.

Suzanne stood, choking back the nausea and the dizziness that hit her as more and more of the adrenaline faded. "Inform the general I will be unable to meet with him," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Both men stared at her in shock. No one refused Stockwell's orders. But at this point, Suzanne didn't care. "I will be accompanying Jessica Summers to the hospital. And I will personally be providing her around the clock security." That was a flat cold statement. "You can tell him that if he asks."

"General Stockwell ordered Abel 3 and I to accompany Miss Summers, and you to immediately report to him."

Abel 16 looked nervously from the gun in Suzanne's hand to the hard lock in her eye. He did not want to have to be the one to inform Stockwell that his agent was refusing an order; she couldn't blame him for that. But what he wanted was irrelevant. Right now the only thing that was relevant was Jessica's safety. Suzanne took a deep, calming breath, and let it out slow. Calm. Collected. Authoritative. She was in control here. She was the order in the chaos.

"Allow me to explain the facts to you, gentlemen, so that you can convey them to the general for me. I only intend to do this once, so pay very close attention. That," she pointed a bloody hand to the body on the ground, "is notthe man we were looking for. And once his identity is confirmed, it will become very clear why there is no one else that the general has that I trust to guard her. If anyone - and I do mean anyone, including you yourselves -" she tightened her grip on the gun in her hand just enough to ensure it got their attention, "comes near her, I will personally put a bullet right between their eyes."

There was no anger, no raised voice. It wasn't needed. It was crystal clear in her ice cold words and look, that she meant every single word. There was a moment of tense silence, that was broken by the voice of the paramedic.

"If one of you is coming with us, it's time to go."

If he had heard or cared about Suzanne had just said, he didn't show it. Good. That meant his focus was where it should be - on his patient.

Lights on and sirens screaming, the ambulance was out the gate and on its way to the hospital in under two minutes. Suzanne pushed herself back against the wall of the ambulance, trying to stay out of the way and give the paramedics room to work. They had a pulse. She was alive - with a tube down her throat and a hand-pumped bag breathing for her.

Suzanne glanced at her watch. Seventeen minutes. That's all the time that had passed. Seventeen minutes ago, she had been lying with Hannibal, both of them warm and safe, before she'd gotten up and looked out the window. Now, that was a lifetime ago. She had no idea where Hannibal was, when she would talk to him, or see him again.

Sliding her gun back into its holster, Suzanne took a deep breath. There was nothing she could do about any of that. Instead she let that comforting numbness slide over her. Life had just been irrevocably changed. Now all that was left was watching and waiting.


	32. Chapter Thirty One

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

"Hey, kid, can you hear me?"

Face's eyes opened and locked immediately on Hannibal's, but he didn't speak. It took far too much effort to even think about speaking. He closed his eyes again.

"Do you know where you are?"

Face opened his eyes again, slowly, and looked around as much as he could without moving his head. "The back of the van."

"Good."

"Why am I in the back of the van?"

"Just about anywhere is easier to defend than a hospital and I don't think -"

"There's a bomb on the gas tank," Face whispered weakly.

For a moment, there was nothing but dead silence. Then Hannibal moved, and the cold chill from outside made Face shiver even under the blankets that were piled on top of him. It was several long minutes before Hannibal climbed back inside and shut the door behind him.

"Was it there?" Face whispered.

"Yes."

No surprise. He didn't really think Cruiser would bluff about something like that.

"Where's Jessica?"

"She's okay."

"She's not okay. Where is she?"

"She's alive, Face. She's at the hospital."

"What about BA and Murdock?"

"BA was shot. He'll be okay. Murdock's with him."

"Why aren't we?"

"Because if Cruiser had any interest in killing BA, he would've made sure he was dead. He didn't. He was after you. And this time, he was bold enough to do it at the compound. He'd have no problem coming after you in a hospital."

Face shuddered slightly, his head dropping to the side as Hannibal's hands worked over him, checking for anything broken, anything swollen or dislocated.

"Aside from the wound on your arm, what hurts?"

"Everything."

"Face..."

"My head hurts."

"Probably a concussion. Anything else internal?"

"Ribs. Besides that... just so tired..."

"Stay with me, okay?"

Face took a breath, and winced at the pain. But he opened his eyes obediently and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm with you."

***X*X*X***

Suzanne stood with her back against the far wall of the hospital waiting room, watching the doorways, windows, people, staff, all of it. She was on alert for any sign of danger or indication that anything was out of the ordinary. They only thing that was unusual was Murdock's constant pacing. Arms folded across her chest, she kept her expression impassive as she watched him walk back and forth and back and forth. A few times, he took a couple extra steps towards the pay phone. But he always stopped. And he always came back. And he always paced again.

Anything she might have felt - or should have felt - was far away. Detached numbness had settled over her, protective and warm in the face of too many things that she could not possibly deal with if she was going to do what Hannibal needed her to do. She wanted to be with him - even if just long enough to tell him that this was not his fault. But there was no way for her to do that. He neededher here, even if he hadn't given her that order himself, and this is where she would stay until she heard from him.

The distance she felt from her emotions was a good thing right now. She hated hospitals. Normally the cold walls, echoing floors, and medicinal smells brought back memories Suzanne preferred to forget, and had her heart pounding with a needed to get away. But not today. Not after what she had seen and felt in that house. Nothing could be more horrific than that.

As she watched, Murdock continued his sentinel; back, forth, step to the payphone, stop and pace. Somehow or another, he had survived fourteen years in a hospital. A mental hospital, no less. It took a powerful force of will to make it out of a place like that intact. He was just a strong as Hannibal and the rest of them. But just like Hannibal, Murdock had that pained, broken look in his eyes. Really, he'd had it ever since they'd come back from Cairo. He just dealt with it differently. Instead of the eerie still, resigned look that Hannibal had, Murdock's eyes flashed with intense and fluctuating emotions. Suzanne wanted that look out of his eyes; she wanted it far from all of them. But there was very little she could do about it.

The walls in the hospital waiting room were getting closer and closer together every time Murdock walked past, his step anything but casual and bored. It seemed to pick up more erratic energy with each step. Another glance at the clock. It had been over two hours since the nurse had led them to the ugly little room, while a team of serious-faced doctors had whisked both Jessica and BA behind the swinging doors. Two hours without a word, two hours of pacing. Hannibal should be well on his way to safety with Face, wherever he'd disappeared to.

Murdock was now chewing his nails. Suzanne had never seen him do that before. Was there anything she could do, or say? She was almost surprised to hear her own quiet, flat voice speaking

"Murdock, are you okay?"

"No!"

He looked startled by his own response. Realizing he'd just yelled at her, he pulled his voice down a few notches in enforced calm.

"No, I'm not okay. Jessica and BA are getting 45 caliber bullets pulled out of them and I just left my best friend injured and broken and running off to someplace we hope is safe and," he lowered his voice to a harsh, frantic whisper, "none of this blood is mine!" He pulled at his bloodstained T-shirt, then waved his arms around him as he turned and started pacing again.

She dropped her eyes to her own skirt and blouse. They were stained and stiff with dried blood. She was surprised - with the scene as it was - that they hadn't been approached by the police yet. That had to be Stockwell's doing. For once, she was glad. She didn't want to talk to them, tell them what had happened, turn over her clothes for evidence. Of course, she didn't exactly want to keep them as a souvenir, either.

Murdock paced a few more times. Then, with a frustrated growl, he sat down on the molded plastic bench that every hospital had. Leaning forward, he dropped his head into his hands. They were trembling, and he clenched them together tight to get them to stop.

"I've got blood on my jacket," he said quickly, under his breath. "How am I gon' get blood off my jacket? You know how hard it is to get blood off of leather? Because I do. You gotta soak it in... in bleach. And scrub it until it bleeds and... And then it's..."

Suzanne watched that look in his eyes as he drifted away - somewhere far from here and haunted. Suddenly he was looking at her, then it was as if he was seeing right through her. "It's what you gotta do to get that stain out of it and make the smell go away. 'Cause that smell is never gon' go away."

"It's going to be okay, Murdock," she said softly. She didn't know if that was true, but she did know that Hannibal would die trying to make it alright again for his men.

"It's not the jacket that's the problem." He was on his feet again, and pacing. "It's the blood. It gets through your skin and it soaks into you and makes you into something you're not. And this thing... this _thing_ that makes up that blood is just... it's there, Suzanne." He hid his face in his hands, stopping. "It's been right there all this time and I never even knew. How can you not know? Everyone knew except me what that thing was!"

"Murdock..." She wanted to know how to help. She wanted a plan of action, a set course. But this was uncharted territory for her, and she didn't have a clue what to say to him.

He paced again. A few more steps. Sat down again. Put his head in his shaking hands again. "He knew what I didn't know. I even told him. The trees and the dragon and he told me not to talk about it. He didn't want me to know." He let his hands drop, clasped, in front of him, and his shoulders sagged. "He knew I didn't want to know. That I _don't _want to know. But I can't not know. Not when I've got all this goddamn blood all over me." He pulled at his shirt again.

"I'm sorry." She meant those words, but they felt hollow and inadequate. She wasn't even sure what he was talking about.

He sighed. Sat back. Put his head back against the wall. "Face. Face knew. And I asked him about it and he didn't want to tell me."

She said nothing, letting him take the lead, go where he needed to go.

Murdock turned and looked at her, then leaned forward again and drew his hands down, over his face, finally letting them fall back into his lap. "I killed so many people, Suzanne." He shut his eyes shaking his head. "One right after the other, for days and days in their blood. With nothing to..."

He turned his head away from her. Suddenly, almost without warning, he was sick. He made it the three steps to the trash can, but no further.

Any surprise she felt, she didn't show. It wasn't hard to keep it under wraps. She wasn't sure she was really capable of feeling anything right now. As he bent over the trash can, she moved over to him and reached her hand out and rested it on his back. "It's okay, Murdock. Just relax."

He gradually stopped heaving, while Suzanne reassured the responding orderly that he was okay and let him take the wastebasket. Then Murdock rinsed his mouth at the drinking fountain before he slid down into the nearest bench with his head back, eyes closed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she reassured him as she slipped into the uncomfortable seat next to him.

He hunched forward a little and took a deep, slow breath. "I have a lot of memories, from the war, that aren't quite right. Some of them I've tried to remember but the ones I'm remembering these past few weeks I never wanted to. And just now, I..."

His eyes squeezed shut harder as if he was determined to push this down even harder, if need be, until he could get to someplace alone and safe. There was nowhere safe she could take him. Nowhere that BA and Jessica weren't dying in a nearby room or where Face was whole and well. Murdock's eyes where still shut when he whispered again.

"There's a part of me that just wants to pop a couple valium and make it all go away. Just for a few hours. I can't do that right now. But I really, really want to."  
Her voice was softer and more sure then she felt. "It's not wrong to want that." She set a hand on his arm. "But I'm glad you realize it won't help."

Suzanne wanted to lie, offer him false comfort and meaningless words. It would be so much easier and safer than this. But she couldn't. The lies and empty words she had made a living off of didn't work with Hannibal and the men who meant everything to him. With no plan, no direction, no idea of cause and effect, Suzanne let instinct guide her.

"Murdock, look at me."

There was no response.

"Please?"

When he turned his head and caught her gaze, Suzanne forced herself to meet the pain in it with the calm reassurance he needed. Something Hannibal would give him if he were here. Something she would have to find a way to give him.

"You don't have to do this alone." She covered his hand with hers. "We're all in this together."  
He took several slow deep breaths, trying to getting his emotions under control. But his voice still cracked as he answered her in a hoarse whisper. "This has just been too long. Too much. I need to..." He shook his head. "I just need the world to _stop_ falling apart."  
Her answer was just as soft as his. "I wish I knew how to make it stop."

In the numb haze of her own emotions, Suzanne realized she meant that. She would give her right arm to stop this, spare them the pain. Why wasn't she shocked by that? Why did she feel oddly comforted by it? Whatever the reason, this wasn't the time or the place to deal with the implications. Instead she drew on the emotion, and used to find a hidden reserve of strength and understanding she didn't know she had.

***X*X*X***

Hannibal sat still and silent in the chair near the door. It was three in the morning, but his mind was racing far too fast to even think about sleep. He still hadn't heard the all clear from Murdock and Suzanne. And even when he did, the only way it would change anything is if they _didn't _pull through.

He couldn't think about that.

Face had been in and out of consciousness since their arrival at the motel. Hannibal let him sleep. All he could do right now was wait and push fluids and let Face's body recover. The bleeding had stopped, the immediate danger had passed. Now there was nothing but waiting.

And praying he didn't slip into a coma.

The anger simmering just below the surface of Hannibal's calm exterior was threatening more and more to overflow. Waiting was hell. And what had it gotten them? In the end of all of their waiting, they had ended up even more hurt and helpless than when they'd started. Their plan to move on Cruiser was worthless. This time, he needed to draw Cruiser to him, to force his hand. And if that meant putting people - even innocent people - in the crossfire, then so be it. Hannibal knew for a fact that Cruiser would respond to a threat on his sister.

Hannibal took a deep breath and closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of his lieutenant. He'd find Cruiser. But to do that, he'd need a plan. He had no more idea where to start looking than he'd had when they left Cairo. That was what got them into this situation to begin with. The waiting, the defensive position - it was all they could do other than running off wildly in unknown directions, looking for someone who didn't want to be found and knew how to hide.

They needed a heading.

Everything Hannibal knew about Cruiser only led him to confusion. With the first attack, in Cairo, he'd been interrupted. But with the drugs, and the stab wound, and what Cruiser had said about both, he'd _expected_ Face to die. Death was the goal, and whatever pleasure he'd taken along the way was an added bonus. Now that he'd been interrupted a second time, would it push him to make a mistake? It sure as hell hadn't the first time.

The phone rang. Hannibal practically dove for it. "Hello?"

"BA and Jessica are both out of surgery." Murdock.

"What's their condition?"

"BA should make a full recovery. His shoulder's pretty much shattered. His leg is broken and he's got a concussion. But he's in the clear as far as... He should be fine."

"And Jessica?"

Murdock hesitated. "It's hard to say. They almost lost her on the table and she's on a ventilator now. They're giving them both blood. That's pretty much all I know."

"Either of them conscious yet?"

"BA is in and out. Jessica, no."

Hannibal shut his eyes and took a few deep, slow breaths.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. How's Face?"

As if on cue, Face's eyes opened.

"He's okay. Have you heard anything from Stockwell?"

"No."

"I'm going to send Suzanne to deal with him. Can you handle things there?" The chances of Cruiser going to the hospital if Face wasn't there were slim.

"Whatever you need, Colonel."

"Good. Put Suzy on the line for me."

It was only a moment later that he heard her greeting. He didn't waste time. "The cameras in the compound were disabled when the power was cut. What about the listening devices? Some of those were wireless."

"I don't know," Suzanne answered. "Why does it matter?"

"Because Cruiser has a game plan. And I'm not waiting for him to make his next move."

She hesitated for a moment. "You're going to listen to the tapes."

"What he was saying may give some indication as to what he was thinking," Hannibal said flatly.

"They'd be in the surveillance room," Suzanne finally managed. "Unless Stockwell has already confiscated them."

"I need them, Suzanne. Make it happen."

"Alright. It shouldn't take me too long, unless Stockwell has moved them somewhere. Either way, I should be able to get the originals or a copy in a couple hours."

"Good. I'll be waiting for your call."


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

"Looking for something, Ms. Davids?"

Suzanne was startled by the voice behind her. She turned so suddenly she nearly lost her balance, but quickly stood up straight, putting her shoulders back. "The surveillance tapes during the attack," she said firmly.

"What for?"

"Hannibal wants them. I didn't ask what for."

Stockwell was standing in the doorway, Abel 1 a half step behind him with a neutral expression on his face. In the long pause that followed, she looked them both over carefully. Abel 1 - Pete - looked exhausted. Stockwell did not. He looked clean, collected, and freshly shaven. The contrast between how she felt in her bloody clothes and how he looked in his pressed suit was not only shocking, it was infuriating. Did he not even _care _what had happened here? Suddenly, in the pit of her stomach, a horrific thought settled in. Had he _instigated _what happened here? Sleep deprived and suddenly paranoid, she resisted the urge to reach for her weapon.

"If Colonel Smith wants them, he will need to come and make his own request."

There was no thought, not even a vague one, that Hannibal would be amenable to that plan. Besides that, he had charged _her _with getting the tapes. And she wasn't leaving without them.

This time, she didn't stop herself from reaching for the pistol that was in her shoulder holster. And she didn't hesitate to point it directly at Stockwell. "Let me make this very clear. I don't have time to dick around with you over who's in charge of what. I'm overtired, I'm irrational, and there will be no reasoning with me. You're going to give me those tapes, or I'm going to kill you, find them, and take them. It's your choice."

"There's no need for such dramatics, Ms. Davids." The fact that he was using her name was not lost on Suzanne, but she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. "In fact, there is no need for any of this. Sergeant Harrison is dead."

The shock that rippled through her was almost enough to make her aim falter. Quickly regaining her composure, she eyed Stockwell carefully, searching for any sign that he was lying.

"How do you know that?"

"Abel 1 caught up with him just outside the perimeter, after he ran from the house. I've just returned from the morgue to see the body for myself."

Her eyes shifted to Pete. He nodded slightly, tiredly, in confirmation. He wasn't lying. He looked too tired to lie. Still on guard, she turned her attention back to Stockwell. "I'd love to see the body, but I still want the tapes."

"I'm afraid neither is a possibility. You're just going to have to take my word for it that this drama has come to an end. And, perhaps more importantly, so has your employment with me." He smiled pleasantly. "My agents do _not _point guns in my direction, Suzanne. You should have thought that through more carefully."

Suzanne's jaw clenched. Did he really think she even gave a damn at this point about her _employment_? She was too tired to think straight, to even begin to wonder what he was up to now. Instead, she kept the gun pointed directly at his forehead as she cocked the hammer, eyes burning into his.

"The tapes," she ordered, her voice low and threatening. "_Now_."

*X*X*X*

The ringing phone snapped Hannibal awake so suddenly, he was on his feet before he even realized why. Disoriented and confused, he surveyed the motel room and locked gazes briefly with Face. But Face didn't move, just watched him. Finally, Hannibal crossed the few steps to the phone and lifted it.

"Hello?"

"Hannibal? I've got the tapes."

"Any problems?"

She hesitated. "Yeah, a few."

"Everything okay?"

Another long pause. Hannibal sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes on Face. He was quiet, unmoving, but he was clearly awake. His eyes had been open just a few seconds before.

"I've been... fired. In a manner of speaking. And however fast Stockwell can move is how fast I'll have a bounty on my head."

"What type of bounty?"

"He's got me dead bang on a whole heap of charges that'll put me in prison for a while. And that's if he _doesn't _get creative." She paused briefly. "He didn't want to give me the tapes."

"That probably means he's following you. And waiting for you to lead him to me. Including from that phone you're on."

"I'll cover the phone. Don't worry about that. And he didn't have a chance to send anyone to follow me, but he'll have an APB out on my car."

"Ditch the car, then. Don't bring it here. Bring me the tapes and we'll work on getting you out of the country."

He gave her the address, and simple directions, then set the phone back in the cradle and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

"What tapes?" Face asked in a whisper.

Hannibal looked up at him, debated his answer, and settled on honesty. "There were a few listening devices in the living room that weren't hardwired into the system. They were still operational."

If he had any reaction to that, he didn't show it. His eyes stayed closed for a long moment, then slowly opened as he turned to look at Hannibal. "You're going to listen to those tapes?"

"Something he said - maybe something you missed - could give us a clue about where to look for him."

"There was a lot that I missed. I was in and out of consciousness. And even when I was in... I don't remember."

"It's okay. You don't have to."

Face was quiet for a moment. With a deep breath, he turned onto his side, towards Hannibal, wincing. "Promise me something."

"What's that?" Hannibal asked, watching him closely.

"When you're done with those tapes, destroy them. Please?"

"I will."

"And don't let anyone else listen to them."

Hannibal nodded slowly, then reached forward to set his hand over Face's. "I know," he said softly. "I won't."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was waiting for her outside the room, standing in the cold just to survey her arrival and make sure there was no one else watching her. The van he'd used to leave the compound wasn't here. He'd ditched it, the same way she'd ditched her car. The one she was driving now would be reported stolen, sooner or later. But the soonest that could possibly happen would be morning, and that was still several hours away.

As she stepped out of the car and closed the door behind her, she crossed the few steps to where Hannibal was standing without a word and threw her arms around his neck. Never one for romantic mush, she just needed a moment of safety next to him to get her thoughts back together. To her relief, he gave her that, putting both arms around her and hugging her close. He didn't rush her, and he didn't speak. He just held her for several long, full minutes until finally, she pulled away and looked up at him.

"Stockwell says Cruiser's dead."

Hannibal's reaction must have been very similar to what her own had looked like. Shock, confusion, and wariness.

"When they chased him out of the compound, Abel 1 says he shot him."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know." She reached into her pocket and withdrew the two cassette tapes, holding them out to Hannibal. "It's hard to know what to think right now. I'm exhausted."

"Go inside and get some rest," Hannibal said, holding the tapes in one hand as he put the other in her hair and pulled her closer to kiss her forehead.

"You don't believe it, do you?"

"No."

She sighed. "Neither do I. But I was hoping."

He smoothed a hand over her hair and pulled back, giving her a key to the door beside him.

"Do you want company?"

Suzanne knew the answer to that before she asked. But it was a serious question, even so.

"No. Thank you."

"If you change your mind..."

He nodded, but remained silent. She paused for a long moment, just to make sure he had nothing to say, then stepped close to hug him again, tight. This time, he didn't return it. "Whatever you hear on those tapes," she whispered, "whatever it makes you think, this was _not _your fault. None of this was your fault. You remember that, okay?"

He turned his head and kissed her hair, then ran his hands over her back, through the jacket. "I know."

She pulled away slowly and held his face with both hands as she pressed her mouth against his. "I love you."

"I know."

"And I'm right here."

"I know."

She smiled softly, left another quick kiss on his lips, then turned and headed into the motel room, closing the door behind her.


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

The sound of the gunshot made Hannibal flinch, in spite of the fact that he knew it was coming. Scream from Jessica, the struggle that ensued, and then the sound of Face's answering cry of pain. How had he not heard that? How had none of them heard that? Maybe BA had. Maybe that's why he'd been shot. He'd responded. Why hadn't he called for backup?

So many questions seemed unanswered. But the one that weighed heaviest on his mind was the question of personal responsibility. Why hadn't he heard his man scream? How could he have let down his guard that way? He _knew _Cruiser would make a move. They'd all been waiting for it to happen. Though, granted, none of them had assumed he would _really _show up at the compound this way. How had he gotten past the security?

Leaning against the car door, Hannibal held his forehead in his gloved hand, eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of pain. No man should sound like that. No human being should sound like that. He'd heard that sound before, in the dark despair of wartime. But this wasn't war. This was simple, sadistic cruelty.

"_Look _at him!"

Hannibal opened his eyes slowly and stared at the radio that was playing in the dashboard.

"I want him to think about the look in your eyes when you died."

He couldn't hear the next few muffled words from Face and Jessica. In a way, he was glad. The things that people thought and said with their dying breaths were personal and intimate. He didn't want to know what was said. It wasn't what he needed to hear.

"Don't," Face gasped - an urgent plea. "It's over. You win. Just end it."

Something had changed in Face's voice. The increase in desperation was plainly evident. He'd said his goodbyes. He'd already let go.

"End it."

"That would be easy, wouldn't it?"

Face let out a cry of pain. He was gasping when he spoke again. "Cruiser, let her go."

"Perfect end to a fuckin' tragedy," Cruiser mocked. "Romeo and fuckin' Juliet."

A pause, a desperate, determined cry from Face, but it was Cruiser who next spoke.

"Take her somewhere. Kill her when you're done with her."

Jessica was too injured to protest. The fact that Face didn't respond was a clear indication of just how much pain he was in, as well. He had no fight left in him. As Jessica was dragged away with only a weak cry, Hannibal took a deep, slow breath. What remained on this tape would only get worse, he knew. But at the moment, he couldn't bear the thought of what "worse" might sound like.

Struggle. Cruiser inevitably came out on top.

"What do you want from me? I've got nothing left to give you."

"You're breakin' my fuckin' heart."

A pain-filled gasp. No telling what Cruiser had just done. Hannibal didn't want to speculate. For a moment, the only sound was Face's weak moan.

"Do you know how painful plastic surgery is, Face? Years and years of it. Locked up in the house because your whole head is bandaged. Breaking and re-breaking bones because it's just not quite right. By the time the wonderful world of medicine catches up with being able to do what you need it to do, you've gone through years and years of pain just sitting and waiting for the day when you get to get even for it all."

"Spare me the melodrama, Cruiser." Face's voice was weak, but full of anger. "You turned on your team. You got what you deserved."

Pause. Hannibal could almost feel the blows. The anger was there, but the fight was over.

"I bet my friend is having a real good time with Jessica. You and I both know she was a hot piece of ass. Too damn needy, but willing to do whatever you want, just so long as say the word love. Nice, kinky fuck, but not real bright."

"You're wrong," Face answered weakly.

"Do you think she's crying for you Face? Waiting for you to come and save her? Be that magical knight in shining armor?"

Face groaned through his teeth, the sound of pain and a man too stubborn to acknowledge it. His will to fight was coming back, probably fueled by anger.

"But you can't even save your own worthless ass. No, no, no Face. No passing out. You don't get to take the easy way out."

Whatever Cruiser did to prevent him from finding unconsciousness, it left him choking and gasping. If Hannibal had to guess, he would say that it was smelling salts.

"You don't get to take a nap, Face. You might miss Jessica's last scream for help."

"Fuck you," Face murmured, barely audible. "She had nothing to do with you and me. Ever. Should've left her out of it."

"You're half right about that. She's collateral damage."

"She's not collateral," Face whispered. "You went after her. St. Louis. I'd never even _been _to St. Louis."

"Ah, St. Louis. That was fun times, Face. Watching how low she would go. But damn, she clung to me like a fucking barnacle. You wanna know how it ended?"

A muffled cry of pain. Face was fighting to make no sound at all. But the pain wouldn't allow that. He ground out his words through gritted teeth. "I already know how it ended."

"You oughtta thank me, Face. I did her a favor. Stupid bitch already had two kids. Not like she needed another one. Especially with all the drugs she was doing, and the random, risky sex. What kind of example is that for kids?"

"Fuck you."

"You know, I really expected more of a fight from you. Back in Bangkok, when you let your team put it all on the line to help me out of my poor, desperate situation. For a con man, you fucking suck at reading people, Peck. Or maybe love just made you soft in more ways than one."

Hannibal's knuckles were aching as they gripped the steering wheel. It wasn't love that had made Face "soft"; it was _loyalty_. It was trust in Hannibal, and it was a memory of a time when Cruiser had been a part of their team. So much had happened since then, but the memory lingered. Once upon a time, Cruiser would have given his life - hell, his soul - for any one of them. Hannibal knew that. He believed it.

But none of that mattered now. Hannibal's jaw tightened as he realized he had facilitated this whole damn thing - encouraged it, even. He was the one - not Face - who had trusted Cruiser. He was the one who'd encouraged Face to go along with it. He was the reason Face had come with them on this mission in the first place. Face had even asked to be excused from this one.

"Fucking hilarious that none of you saw it coming. Only that dead moron spic got it right. You should have killed me. Even the great and wise Hannibal was no challenge. Really, I was expecting better from the infamous A-Team."

"You're a goddamn traitor," Face ground out. "And that's no one's fault but yours."

He ended with a cry of pain that made Hannibal's hands clench harder around the steering wheel. "You would know what it's like to be a traitor, wouldn't you? Traitor to your country, traitor to your team. Hell, way I hear it, you were charged for fucking treason. Now _that's _irony."

Face's moan ended with a sob. His stubborn determination was wearing down. Too much pain was making it hard to stay silent and defiant. Hannibal swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down. He knew how much Face could take. Hearing him pushed past that limit was gut wrenching.

"Know what else is ironic? What I'm going to do to you will make that whole thing with Dai seem like a god damned moonlight stroll in the faggot park."

Face's breathing was labored. He was trying to catch his breath. "You were the one Dai fucked for all of our amusement. Not me."

Hannibal flinched as he opened his eyes and stared out at the hood of the car. Face knew - he had to know - that he was pushing buttons. Hannibal wasn't surprised to hear the muffled scream that followed. But it hurt nonetheless. He shut his eyes as he felt the tears brim. No matter how hard he tried to hold his emotions at bay, no matter how good he'd become at distancing himself from them, he couldn't ignore the fact that his eyes were burning with pain and anger.

"That's right, Face," Cruiser growled through gritted teeth. The fury in his voice made him hard to even understand. "And I fought him. Not like you. He made you into his little fuck doll. You brought a whole new meaning to taking one for the team. And then what? You decided you liked it? That what got you and flyboy hooked up?"

Face was weeping openly. There was no telling what part of that torture he'd endured was going on right now, but Hannibal could guess. Face didn't cry when he was hurt. He cried when he was broken. There was a very big difference.

"Was he the top, Face? Or maybe that's why you liked him so much. He was the only faggot you could find that would let you pitch. The only thing pathetic enough to let you top him."

There was no more defiance, no more protest. Only the sound of Face weeping. Hannibal could feel the hot tears on his cheeks, cooling as they ran all the way down to his chin. He was silent, breathing slow and even, thoughts anywhere but here for a moment as he listened to the horrible sounds on the tape. As he struggled to separate himself from the agony of what he was hearing, the thought occurred to him that he was very much violating Face's privacy in listening to this. It was a shame and a pain that was his to protect and keep secret. But Hannibal had to know. And he would protect this secret with his life. The flickering thought of Stockwell listening to these recordings made the tears stop almost instantly, and Hannibal's chest tightened with rage.

Cruiser finished with a guttural cry. Face's sobs didn't stop. For a moment, there was relative silence. Hannibal looked at the clock. Ten minutes. Was that really all the time that had passed? It felt like he had been here for hours, listening to this.

Cruiser laughed - a mocking, evil sound. "You like that, Face? Not quite like Dai, huh? Or Murdock."

Face gasped audibly. Cruiser's next words were so low, Hannibal couldn't hear them. He rewound the tape and tried again, eyes closed to block out the rest of the world as he focused on the sound.

"You know I'm going to kill them all, right? And there's not a goddamn thing you can do to stop me. They'll die one by one, all while you watch. That's why I'm not going to kill you, Face. I want you to watch. And when it's all said and done, I won't even have to pull the trigger on you. You'll do it for me."

Face's sobs were quieting. Hannibal turned the volume down a little as Cruiser shuffled to his feet. "That's it, Peck, cry. And make sure you remember just how easy it was to bend you over and fuck you like the weak, helpless, whining bitch you are."

A brief pause. Cruiser must have heard or seen something. "Ah, Hannibal and Suzanne, come to investigate. That's my cue. I'll be back, Face. Enjoy your recovery. Cory, get in here."

Silence.

Hannibal listened for a moment more - long enough to hear his own entrance, and the gunshots. He shut the tape off, sitting quietly for a few seconds as he let the new information settle, then stood up, out of the car. He was back inside of the motel room in a few quick strides.

"We didn't interrupt him," Hannibal announced as he locked eyes with Face. "He didn't want you dead."

Suzanne, sitting on the edge of the bed, stood up. "What?"

"He left," Hannibal interrupted, casting a quick glance at her. "The man who ran from us wasn't him."

"Then where was he?" Suzanne asked.

"That's a very good question. But either way, I've got a very good idea where he's heading."

*X*X*X*

The house was silent. It had been that way now for hours, and the cold in the attic was starting to get to him. With a yawn and stretch, Cruiser turned and craned his neck to see down through the tiny hole in the ceiling. No one in sight. They'd moved the bodies out long ago. No telling what Stockwell had done with them, and Cruiser couldn't care less. They would probably be done combing the woods by now. Sooner or later, someone was going to come up here to take a look at the wiring for the cameras and see what all had been cut. He needed to be gone by then.

He pulled his jacket tighter as he crawled to the door leading down to the bedroom closet. There were two exits from the attic - one on either side of the house. He'd warned Matt to get the hell out of that room the moment he'd heard the cars crunching on the snow. He wouldn't have taken him long - slit her throat and take ten steps to the closet, and he would've been home free. But he'd ignored the warning. Always did take that man a long time to come with a bitch, and he'd never walk away from her until he did. Not too surprising that it had killed him in the end.

The blood on the bed was of little interest to him. The same with the pools in the hallway, and the drips and splatters that were everywhere. Cruiser chuckled to himself. It was like a haunted house at Halloween - meant to make you wonder just how many people had died here. If his count was right, it should've been eight. Well... _should _have been nine. He probably should've put a bullet in Jessica when he had the chance. But, live and learn.

In the living room, Cruiser paused, letting his eyes drift over the dark, shadowed scene. Very slowly, he walked to the coffee table, tracing his fingers along the slit the knife had made as it plunged straight through, holding Face's arm down. His fingers came back red with blood, and he breathed in deep, savoring the smell of it. As he looked around the room, he committed every inch of the room to memory. He would remember this place for as long as he lived, he was sure. His satisfying revenge. At least, part of it.

And he wasn't quite done yet.

Someday, he would kill Face. But it wouldn't be with a gun. When he died, it would be by grief alone. After he watched the slow and agonizing demise of everything he ever cared about. This wasn't the end for him; that would be far too easy.

Cruiser rubbed his fingers together, lubricated by the sticky blood, then stood again and headed for the door. He had more work to do. And it was simply easier to do it while Hannibal and Stockwell kept each other busy over who was calling the shots on Face's care.


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

The phone was ringing. Who the hell was calling this early in the morning? Barely awake, James stood and stumbled the few steps to the phone on the desk. The room, normally impeccably clean, looked like a tornado had ripped through the night before. It looked the way his head felt. Holding a hand over his eyes, he picked up the phone as he sank down to the floor.

"Hello?"

"James, are you alone?"

The voice was unfamiliar. "Huh? Who is this?"

"It's Hannibal. Answer the question. Are you alone?"

Oh. Hannibal. Wait. Hannibal? Why the hell was Hannibal calling him? He hadn't heard from him in... Thoughts scattered. Headache. Had to be important if Hannibal was calling him. Question? What question? Oh. Was he alone? He peeked through his fingers as Amie sat up in his bed and stretched.

"Um... no?"

"Who's with you?"

"Do you care?" James pulled himself up, taking the phone with him as he moved to the foot of the bed, very slowly. "What's this about?"

"Listen to me very carefully, kid. I need you to get out of the dorms, right now. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Go to the airport. There will be a plane ticket waiting for you and further instructions when you arrive at your destination. Don't talk to anyone, don't take anything with you. Just go."

"What?" The shock of what he was hearing was more than enough to wake him up fully. "What the hell is this? Is Face with you?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me talk to him."

"Good answer, kid." He pulled the phone away. "Face?"

James glanced at Amie as she moved closer, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and then down to his chest.

"Hi, James."

Face's voice sounded weak and tired. But it was definitely him. "What the hell is this about? Are you okay?"

"We need to get you to a safe house for a few days."

"You didn't answer the more important of the two questions. Don't think I didn't notice."

"I'm alright, James," Face said, unconvincingly. "But I need you to not ask questions right now. I need you to get out of New York."

"Yeah, well, I can't do that right now."

"Why not?"

"Dude, it's finals week. I've got projects strewn all over my dorm room, I've got a biology test this afternoon, a government test tomorrow morning... They don't give makeup tests, Face. I can't just not go."

"Tell them you're sick."

"It doesn't work like that. This isn't high school. If you're sick, you go anyways and take a bucket to puke in."

Face was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and calm. "James, this is very serious. You need to go somewhere safe. Somewhere nobody can find you. And you need to stay there a few days, until you hear from me."

"Face, I can't!"  
Face was quiet again. The phone changed hands. It was Hannibal who spoke next. "This isn't a question. It isn't an option. Leave the dorms, right now, and get out of town. By the time you get to the airport, everything will be paid for."

"Where is my mom?"

Hannibal paused for a long moment. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, you need to get to the airport. Your plane leaves in two hours."

James had no chance to protest again before the phone went dead in his hand.

*X*X*X*

"What do you think the chances are that he'll try for him before we get there?" Face asked, his voice flat and serious.

Hannibal cast a lingering glance in his direction, then looked back down at the photo in his hands. Teenage boy, blond, carved and mutilated. Long ago and far away, Hannibal had learned to distance himself from this sort of thing. But the imminent threat posed by the man who'd done the work in his hands made distance far more difficult right now.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Do you have a plan?"

Hannibal exchanged glances with Face again.

"I should clarify," Face said. "Do you have a plan in either case? Since we don't really know what we'll be walking into."

"_We _aren't walking into anything. I need you and Suzanne to go on ahead and scout a place for us to... retire."

"You're dreaming."

Hannibal looked up questioningly, but said nothing. There was no uncertainty in Face's expression or tone when he spoke again.

"This is my fight. It has been from the beginning. And I will be coming with you to confront him."

"I don't think that's wise."

"I respect the hell out of you, Hannibal, but this is one time when I really don't care what you think."

"If you're not up to going on ahead, then I want you at the hospital with BA and Jess."

"Don't play mind games with me, Hannibal. I wrote the book."

"It would be nice to have a friendly face there when they wake up."

"They'll understand."

He was unwavering. Hannibal studied him for a long moment, then set the photo in his hands on the table in front of him. "You know, just because he didn't kill you doesn't mean he wouldn't if you stepped in his way."

"I deserve to be there when this ends."

"You're not exactly in top shape. I don't want to tell them when they wake up that we're burying you next week."

"I'm tired. I've lost a lot of blood. But I'm not incapacitated. Nothing that he did to me this time makes it so I need to be in the hospital. Nothing prevents me from helping you stop him."

"Blood loss is no small thing, Face. Not with the amount of blood you actually lost."

"I'll be fine."

"You're not fine."

"By the time we get to New York, I'll be fine."

"Now who's playing games?"

Face was quiet for a long moment. But there was still no emotion in his eyes, or his tone, when he finally spoke again, more softly this time. "I'm not sitting this out."

"You were the one asking to sit this out, remember?"

"That changed in Cairo." The first hints of emotion surfaced in his tone. And it was a deep, passionate emotion. "Everything changed in Cairo. In Cairo, it became all about me. Not Stockwell, not the team, _me_. And I will not let you do this without me."

Face's eyes were on fire as he sat up straighter, leaning forward and glaring hard at Hannibal. Though obviously weak, his voice was hard and angry.

"I am telling you this up front, out of respect. If you give me orders to stay here, I _will _disobey them. You can either help me, or you can make me fight you. That's the choice you have, Hannibal. Either way, I've made my choice."

"Fine. But in that case, since you're _not _ready to move, we wait."

"No!" The anger was intensifying, boiling over. "He's not going to wait! And if you want to stop him, neither are you."

"Well that's a risk I'm going to have to be willing to take. Seeing you dead because you're still suffering trauma and running around, trying to pretend like nothing's wrong - that is _not _a risk I'm willing to take."

"Fuck you."

For a long moment, their eyes remained locked, staring each other down. There was no sense in calling Face's bluff. There was no sense in giving him orders he wouldn't obey. There was no sense in trying to force him, to take the decision out of his hands. Sure, Hannibal could drug him and stash him somewhere until this was over. But what did that accomplish in the end? Violated trust and deep anger, nothing more. Hannibal knew damn well that Face would do everything in his well-exercised power to show up in New York anyways.

"I would die for this, Hannibal," he continued more calmly. "That's my call. Not yours. You just show me where to follow and how to do it with dignity."

Hannibal took a deep breath, and let it out slow. Under all the layers, the man was still a soldier at his core. And if there was dignity to be had in his death, it would be in trying to stop Cruiser from destroying more of what he loved.

"Alright," Hannibal finally relented. "But until we leave, you're not to do anything but drink water and sleep. I'm going to the hospital to get Murdock and I'm coming back with an IV. And while he gets us a plane, and while he flies that plane, you are going to take fluids and sleep. That's it, and that's all. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Hannibal stood and closed the folder. "Suzanne will be back with food shortly. I'll be back in an hour. Until then, you don't move."

*X*X*X*

"Is he awake?"

Murdock sat up straight, startled, and looked at Hannibal. He was on his feet the moment their eyes locked. "Where's Face?"

"Face is alright." Hannibal's tone was calm as he walked into the room. "He's with Suzanne."

"You left them there alone?" Murdock asked, stunned.

"We didn't interrupt Cruiser. He'd already left. He didn't want to kill Face. There's no reason for him to go after him now."

Hannibal's eyes lingered for a long moment on BA. He was asleep - a drug-induced, deep sleep. Murdock's head was full of questions, but he didn't ask. He didn't have to. He knew Hannibal wouldn't have left Face if there was any danger. Which led to the question of why. How could he be so sure? And if he knew that Cruiser _wouldn't _go after Face, what else did he know?

"He's going to go after the kids," Hannibal said quietly, turning again to lock eyes with Murdock.

Murdock's eyes widened and a chill swept through him. He didn't have to ask how Hannibal knew. It was enough that he knew. There was no uncertainty in his tone.

"Did you call them?"

"Heather and her boyfriend are on a plane headed to a motel in Iowa. James should be meeting them there, but there's a chance he didn't get on the plane. I'll be calling the airport to make sure."

"Didn't get on the plane?"

"It's finals week. He didn't want to leave school."

Murdock nodded, slowly processing through what he knew. He didn't speak. There was too much in his head, too many things to file away.

"Murdock."

He looked up quickly, locking eyes with Hannibal.

"This is Stockwell's endgame, you know. When we leave here, we're not coming back."

"BA can't go anywhere right now."

"BA will join us later."

Murdock's eyes widened. "You mean _leave _him here?"

"If we stop Cruiser, nothing's going to hurt him."

"What about Stockwell?"

"Stockwell can't touch him as long as he's in here. When he's ready to be released, we'll tell him exactly where and how to meet us."

"And you think Stockwell will just let him go?"

"No, I think Stockwell will try to use him to find us. And I think we'll have to deal with that when the time comes. The number one problem right now is Cruiser. And for that, I need your help."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, slowly processing Hannibal's words. If they stopped Cruiser, the physical threat was gone. The worst that could happen at that point was that Stockwell could throw him in jail once he recovered. If that happened, they would damn sure break him out.

Murdock's posture straightened, shoulders back, head high. Whatever Hannibal needed him to do, he was ready. "Alright. So what's the plan?"

*X*X*X*

Beverly was toweling her hair dry when she heard the knock on the door. The clothes she put on were the first ones she could grab as she stumbled to the door. "Just a minute!"

Who the hell was that, anyway? She didn't have callers - especially not ones who knocked incessantly at her door. Couldn't be Murdock; Murdock had a key. One of his friends? She was still running through possibilities as she pulled the door open and, to her surprise, saw Murdock standing there. She blinked a few times, shocked.

"Murdock? Why didn't you just -"

"I'm leaving."

She stared at him, not sure what to say to that, or even what he meant. "Okay..." she answered cautiously. "Where are you going?"

"I want you to come with me," he said low, voice measured. His eyes were dark and serious on hers, full of emotion even though his expression and tone were void and empty. "I won't be coming back."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet. But wherever it is, it'll be a miracle if we make it. And if we do make it, if we're ever found, we'll probably be killed. Or die trying to escape."

She laughed tightly, running a hand over her wet hair. "Gee, Murdock, don't try so hard to sell me on the idea."

"I'm not selling anything," he corrected. He was completely serious. "I'm telling you how it's going to be. I'm asking you to run with me."

She stared at him for a long moment as the impact of his words slowly sank in. Finally, she swallowed hard as she managed a deep, calming breath. "The whole team is running?"

"Yes."

"How long do I have to get ready?"

"I left the car running. We need to go now."

Her eyes widened. "Now?"

"Yes."

His expression was so calm and serious, it was damn near unreadable. But there was emotion in his eyes. Fear and pain and nervous energy. His eyes gave him away. They always did. He meant what he was saying. He was leaving right now. There was no doubt in her mind that he meant that. She had a choice to either follow or kiss him goodbye. As she looked over her shoulder at everything she would be leaving behind, and felt the icy cold air rip through her and flood her living room, she took a deep breath.

"Let me grab my purse and my gun. I'll be right there."


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

Murdock was quiet as he opened the motel room door. The light was off, and it looked for a moment like Face might be asleep. Murdock didn't want to wake him if he was. Not that it much mattered. Hannibal would be in momentarily to stick an IV in his arm; he'd be awake for that.

"How is Jessica?"

Murdock let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he closed the door behind him. "Unconscious," he answered.

"In a coma, you mean."

"No, I didn't say that." Murdock pulled out the chair at the small table by the window and pushed aside the folder lying on top of it. "She's heavily sedated and on a ventilator. But she's alive. She'll make it."

For a long moment, the silence lingered. Then, slowly, Face's eyes opened and locked immediately on Murdock. "Where's your jacket?"

"It's all bloody."

"So?"

Murdock lowered his head, folding his hands in front of him and trying not to fidget. "I left it with BA. I'll come get it when we come get him."

Face didn't answer. Murdock took a deep breath.

"Did you tell the kids?"

"Tell them what?"

"About their mom."  
Face hesitated a moment, and let his eyes slide closed again. "No."

"They should hear it from you."

"They will. When this is over."

Murdock nodded slowly. He was beyond ready for this to be over. But the path from here to there had the potential to become very deadly very fast.

"Hannibal says you're being stubborn. That you want to go with us."

Face opened his eyes again, exchanged glances with Murdock, then sighed deeply as he slowly sat up.

"I don't blame you, you know," Murdock continued quietly. "I'd feel the same way. I _do_ feel the same way."

Face stood, walked to the bathroom, and returned a few minutes later to sit on the side of the bed, head in his hands. Murdock realized that he wasn't keeping the fidgeting under control anymore. In fact, he was chewing on his lower lip - a nervous habit he'd gotten rid of years ago. He needed a cigarette. But he didn't have one.

"There's never going to be a good time to talk about what happened back there," he finally said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush."

"Back where?" Face asked into his hands.

"In Vietnam. Where this whole nightmare started."

"A lot of things got started in Vietnam. Not all of them are nightmares."

"Yeah, well, this thing with Cruiser...it is."

Face didn't answer. Murdock took a deep breath as he looked away, finding a spot on the table to fix his gaze on. "I just wanted to say... to tell you... just... thanks."

"For what?"

Murdock took a deep breath and let it out slow. "For never telling me."

Face glanced up, then away again. "When I think about what you knew... What everyone knew, but especially you. I always knew it was bad. That there was a reason I didn't remember. But I didn't realize-"

"I never meant for that to happen to you, Murdock."

"It wasn't your fault."

At that, Face looked up. Murdock could feel his eyes on him until finally, he turned his head and met that piercing gaze. "You said you remember all of it. Do you remember why?"

"Why what?"

"Why Cruiser did what he did? Why he spread that rumor?"

"Alan had already -"

"Do you remember what he walked in on?"

Murdock stared for a long moment. "Walked in on?"

"On us, Murdock."

_ "Is that how you control them, Lieutenant? Hurt their warm fuzzies and when they finally break down sobbing, you swoop in for the kill? Or should I say lay?"_

_ "Wanna find out? Bet I could make you shed a few tears by the time we're through."_

_ Tears. Murdock could feel them, drying in saline tracks down his cheeks._

_ "Do it," Cruiser dared Face. "See how well that goes."_

_ "You've got a hurt arm, Cruiser. You really think it's a good idea?"_

_ "Oh, yeah, you're the picture of sound decision making. Fuck a flyboy, but be careful of the guy with the hurt arm."_

Eyes closed, Murdock let the scene play out in his badly damaged memory. "I remember the fight. You and me and Cruiser."

"Do you remember why?"

"I remember what he said. What he thought." Murdock closed his eyes tighter, as if that would somehow make the memory clearer. "I didn't do anything to him at all. I did it to you."

"You didn't do anything to me, Murdock," Face said quietly. "It was the other way around."

_ "Tell me to stop, Face." Murdock's whisper was shaky, barely audible. "Tell me I'm crazy, and this is all just a dream. And when I wake up, I'm gon' be back home in my own bed. Five years old, not a care in the world."_

"It's what I did to you, Murdock."

"Tell me there's no war."

The words were like a recording, playing back as clearly as if the moment had been caught on tape, making their way out of his mouth. He didn't know the words that would follow until they came too. Lost in that forgotten moment in time, he let them come.

"Tell me we're safe tonight. No sappers, no VC, no bombs. Tell me that these voices that keep screaming in my head aren't real. Just tell me it's okay. Lie to me and tell me it's all gon' be okay."

_ Face was reluctant to meet his eyes. When he did, the gaze was full of fear and pain and uncertainty. "It's okay." _

_ Murdock let out a silent, shuddering sob as Face touched his cheek. A comforting touch. Murdock leaned into it._

_ "It's okay, Murdock."_

_ The words moved and breathed against Murdock's mouth, and he felt his eyes slide closed. For a long moment, he didn't speak, didn't move, didn't breathe. His head was swirling with confused emotions, none of which gave him any reason to pull away from the closeness. He felt Face's mouth brush his, and he responded, touching lips, then teeth, then tongue to Face's lower lip in quick succession. _

_ Tears. Kiss. __His mouth was open against Face's, tongues intertwined. Hands moving. Nothing made sense. He didn't care. Nothing really mattered anymore._

_ "Don't stop," Face pleaded as Murdock brought the kiss to a close. "Please. I'm sorry..." _

_ Hands lower, inside his fatigues, wrapped around his shaft. The sensation was shocking and intense. His body responded. What did that mean? Why didn't he care?_

"I was scared, Murdock," Face said quietly. "The war was over and we'd lost. We knew it; the enemy knew it. It was just a matter of time."

_"So I guess flyboy here is just a really fucking ugly chick, huh? Got you drunk, finally came clean to you."_

Murdock opened his eyes, stopping the playback, staring in stunned silence at Face. Hands folded, hunched forward, Face's eyes were on the floor.

"I had nothing to go back to," he whispered. "I was never supposed to survive that war. And trying to find things that I could hold on to, something that had value and meaning. You came back for a second tour. I knew you didn't have anything to go back to either. And I didn't want to lose you."

Pushing aside the confusion, Murdock was surprised by the hurt that came with hearing those words. "What made you think I was going anywhere?"

"Nothing," Face answered immediately. "And that was the point."

Murdock shook his head. "I don't understand."

"You talked about friendship like I was supposed to know what that meant. But I'd never had a friend like what you wanted to be."

"Devon was your friend. I know that for a fact."

"Devon and I had a mutually beneficial relationship." Face raised his eyes to Murdock but kept his head bowed. "A sexual relationship."

Murdock's eyes widened a bit. Why had that never even occurred to him before?

"It was never about the sex," Face said quietly. "It was just about feeling something. Anything."

"And you, of all people, couldn't find a willing woman?" Murdock was careful to keep his tone in check. It wasn't judgment, just confusion.

"There were no women at that camp but even if there had been, it wouldn't have made a difference because it wasn't about the sex. It was the only way I knew to... connect."

Murdock didn't know what to say. But he had a feeling, from the expression Face was wearing, he shouldn't say anything. Head down, watching his thumbs rub over each other, Face sat in silence for several full minutes before he continued.

"I always told everyone, even Jess, that I don't remember anything before I was five years old. That's a lie."

Murdock was suddenly very glad he hadn't said anything.

"The things I remember... I've never told anyone. I don't remember them being painful. She used to make me drink orange juice, before her clients came over. Three glasses. With vodka."

"I thought AJ Bancroft said your mother was -"

"He lied. My mother was a prostitute." He paused just briefly, and stood, pacing away slowly. "I took Stockwell's word for what it was worth. It felt good to have something like closure. It was easy to make myself believe; still is. But the truth is, nobody could ever explain to me the memories that I have."

Murdock remained silent, not daring to interrupt again.

"I never really felt like a kid, Murdock. Never. The whole time I was growing up, it's like I thought of myself as being sixteen. And I acted like it. It's hard to really evaluate from the inside how good of an actor I was in real life. But I do know that I was a goddamn magnet for sex. Men, women, other children... Nobody ever forced me. They didn't have to. It only hurt once and when I told him not to do that again, he didn't. He loved me. That was what he said."

Murdock bit his tongue at the protests that came to mind. He forced back the anger; this was not the place for it. Face was avoiding his gaze as he paced back and forth slowly.

"When I hit puberty, the tables turned. I never touched anyone younger than me. Why would I want to? In my mind, I was sixteen. Why would I want to date a five-year-old? I wanted the grown up girls. The ones who looked like the pictures. And I got them. But I never really learned how to relate to guys. I wasn't gay; I definitely wanted the girls for sex. I learned to keep the boys at a distance.

"You go from that to a camp in Vietnam, all male environment, high stress. Feeling fear for the first time in my life. I needed a friend and there was _no _woman to connect to. I didn't know how to connect to the men, but I knew if they thought I was gay they'd kill me. So I tried to just do it alone. Some people can do that. But I learned real quick I'm not one of them."

Face paused at the dresser, turned to lean against it, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "For the record, Devon wasn't gay either. He was just a lot like me. He told me it didn't have to mean I was gay. And we kept it our secret, because we knew nobody else would understand."

The silence lingered again. Murdock took a slow breath, and offered a quiet, "I'm glad he was there," just to make it clear he was still listening.

"Yeah," Face whispered. "Me too."

Murdock waited. After a long pause, Face finally looked up and straight at him.

"But I didn't know how to relate to you. I knew you weren't like me. And I still didn't know how to relate, how to have friends."

"Cruiser was your friend."

Face laughed dryly. "Cruiser didn't know how to relate either. Probably for the same reasons if I had to guess. Especially after seeing how he reacted to what Dai did to him."

"What Dai did to him?"

"He raped him. In front of all of us."

Murdock looked away. "Jesus..."

"The difference between me and Cruiser was that he was somebody who _could _do it alone. And he did. Our friendship was very superficial and mostly practical."

"Are you trying to tell me he never bonded to the team? Or that you didn't?"

"It's not just about bonding. It's..." Face trailed off, staring into space again and shaking his head slowly. Finally, he glanced back at Murdock. "It's what you wanted from me. Knowing that somebody cares. Not just because of what you can do for them but because you matter."

"And you didn't feel that? You didn't hear me all those times I told you that?"

"Yeah, I heard you." Face looked up finally, catching Murdock's gaze and holding it. "But I had no way to receive it. No way to accept what you were offering, other than the way that I ultimately did."

Murdock took a deep, slow breath, then let it out evenly. "We were just kids, Face. We were young and confused and... and in the middle of a _war_."

"I know. But you need to understand..." Face looked up again, standing up a little straighter. "It was _nothing _you did. I was the one who was messed up, not you."

"We were just kids."

"I know. But you were the one who paid for it in blood."

Murdock shook his head, eyes locked hard on Face. He could see the apology written there, and it made his jaw clench tighter.

"Don't you dare apologize to me, Face," he whispered. "You didn't do that to me any more than I did this to you."

Face stood still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he took two slow steps forward and pulled Murdock into an embrace that was much weaker than it should have been. It was just one more reminder of just how much blood face had lost. Murdock swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I know you've got to come with us." He managed to keep his voice from cracking by sheer force of will. "But don't you _dare_ die on me, Face."

"I'm not going anywhere."

*X*X*X*

James had left the number where he could be reached with Face's answering service. He was almost surprised that Face still _had _an answering service, and that it was the same number after all these years. Face would probably be angry when he heard the message, but that was something James would just have to deal with when the time came. There was no way in hell he could just jump on a plane and take off to another state right smack in the middle of finals week. He'd lost valuable time just in relocating to his motel.

Photography was supposed to be a blow off class - an easy A. That was the only reason he'd procrastinated on his final project. He hadn't actually expected it to be hard, especially when he'd taken all the photos and developed them way back at the beginning of the semester. And it wasn't hard. But it was far more time consuming than he'd counted on. Now that he was scrambling to get it done, pasting photos into the most professional-looking scrapbook he could make in a single night.

The knock on the door startled him, and he turned to look at the clock. That had to be a new world record for the fastest pizza delivery. Grabbing his wallet off the bed, he carefully set the book of photos aside and headed for the door. But the man standing outside wasn't carrying a pizza. Blond and tall and dressed in a suit, the man was standing ramrod straight.

"James Summers?"

Startled, and immediately wary, James closed the door a little. "You are?"

"John Rosenbaum, FBI." He flashed his ID, and left it displayed long enough for James to take a good look at it. It was official. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother, Jessica Summers, was killed in what appears to have been a drive by shooting."

James felt his eyes widen and his grip on the door loosened. "She was what?"

"She died just a few hours ago in a hospital in Virginia."

The shock waves were still rippling through James as the man replaced his ID inside his jacket pocket.

"I do have a few questions I'd like to ask you, if that's alright. May I come in?"


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

If James had answered the phone when Hannibal called his room from the plane, things would have been much different. As it was, the five of them were armed to the teeth with well-concealed weapons as Hannibal led them across the tarmac with a steady, determined pace. A few steps behind, Suzanne kept her eyes peeled. They were being watched; she was sure of it. The only question was, by whom? And did it really matter, anyways?

"How well do you think Cruiser knows New York?" Murdock asked.

"Better than we do," Hannibal answered dryly.

"I know it fairly well," Bev offered. "I lived here a while."  
"You know the quickest way to get to the Capri Hotel in Manhattan?"

"Taxi," she answered. "But we'll have to split up. Otherwise, you've got a bus to the subway station and two transfers.

"Taxi it is," Hannibal declared.

The drive was silent. Several times, the driver attempted to strike up conversation. But quick to-the-point answers made it clear that Hannibal didn't want to talk. By the time he dropped them off, Suzanne could feel the tension in every muscle.

Murdock, Face and Bev were out of the other cab, right behind them. Hannibal waited for them to catch up before he put an arm around Suzanne's waist in a casual, unthreatening and unhurried manner. Then he led them all inside.

The man at the desk barely looked up as they walked by, offering smiles as they passed. They were inside the elevator and waiting for the doors to close a moment later. The moment the doors closed, the guns were out. They only had three floors to go. Three floors to get ready.

"Nobody fires a shot," Hannibal ordered low. "Cruiser is smart. If he's already here, he'll be fully prepared to either use the kid as a human shield or a backup plan. I don't want the kid harmed. That takes precedence. Understood?"

Nods all around, and the doors opened to an eerily silent hallway. Suzanne hung back, letting Hannibal's team did what they did best. She was nothing but backup here; another set of hands to hold a weapon, like Bev. This was Hannibal's show.

She and Murdock stood to one side as Hannibal, Face and Bev took the other. An exchange of glances, and Hannibal knocked. At his nod, Bev called out, "Housekeeping."

No response. Hannibal tried once more, then gestured for Face as he took a step back. Face had the lock picked faster than Suzanne had ever seen anyone do it. His hands were perfectly steady, in spite of the adrenaline they all felt. Hannibal's hand on his shoulder pulled him back as the door cracked open. She had to wonder if it was more out of concern for his injuries that Hannibal didn't want him going first, or the potential horror that might be inside the room. They all knew who this kid was to Face...

Hannibal went first. Murdock and Suzanne followed with a textbook sweep of the empty room. No sign of a struggle, no sign of Cruiser or of James. "Maybe he left to get something to eat," Bev suggested.

Tucking his pistol back into his belt, Hannibal eyed the books and notebooks spread out over the bed. James had been studying. "I told him not to leave," Hannibal answered, as if that explained everything.

"No blood, no signs of a struggle," Suzanne pointed out.

"Where's the pen?" Murdock asked, picking up the notebook and looking at it. "He left off mid-sentence."

"It's over here," Face answered solemnly, bending down to pick up the pen off the floor. Open on the table looked like what had to be a scrapbook.

"He was taking a photography class," Face explained as Suzanne picked up the book.

Down at the bottom of the page it was open to, scribbled in shaky, uneven letters was H-E-L-I. "He was trying to write help," she said, holding it up. "And there's a photo missing from this collage. Looks like it was ripped off."

Bev stepped closer, eyes narrowing in on the black and white pictures of the building that looked to be abandoned. "I know where that is," she said quietly. "It's an abandoned apartment complex in Flushing. It's been uninhabitable for years, but the property it's on is sinking into the river so nobody wants it. A lot of people take pictures of that building. Rumor is it's haunted."

"Quiet, out of the way, private," Murdock said. "If he was looking for a place to enjoy his crime..."

"What's the fastest way to get there from here?" Hannibal demanded.

"In another ten minutes, it's going to be rush hour," Bev answered. "But there should be a subway station on this block or the next. I can get us there from the seven train."

"Good." Hannibal was already heading to the door. "Let's go."

*X*X*X*

"What do you want with me?"

James was proud of the way his voice didn't shake. But his fear was no secret. Not really. He didn't know who this man was, or what he wanted, but he knew that he had to be the reason Hannibal had called and told him to get to the hotel. And whatever he wanted, James was sure he was very dangerous.

"Do you have a name?"

The man sat on the rickety chair in the corner, quietly sharpening a _third _knife he'd pulled from somewhere under his jacket. James couldn't help but feel fear at what he intended to do with all the knives once he was through sharpening them. With a deep, trembling breath, James tried to put that thought out of his head.

He'd read once that during hostage negotiations, or when people tried to find missing children who'd been kidnapped, it was always part of the goal to personalize the potential victim - to make them seem real. While he didn't like the thought of negotiating his own release, he liked sitting in silence and listening to the hiss of the knives being sharpened even less.

"My name is James."

"I know."

Oh, thank God. Not exactly the response he would've hoped for, but at least it was a response.

"You know?" James asked. "How do you know?"

The man looked up with a wicked smile on his lips. James swallowed the lump in his throat. When he did that, the guy looked like the devil himself.

"I knew your father."

Once again caught off guard, James tried not to let it show. "My father?" He shook his head slowly, as evenly as he could. "I'm sorry, I um... I never knew my father."

The man chuckled. "Your father," he said low, "Lieutenant Templeton Peck of the US Army. Sergeant, when I met him. Now the somewhat infamous 'Face' of the A-Team."

James was scrambling to process what he was hearing. Not that he didn't already know, but why was this man saying it?

"The A-Team was executed," he whispered. "Years ago."

"Think so?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It's the coroner's opinion that matters."

The man chuckled, and set his knife aside. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on James. "What do you think the coroner's going to have to say about you?"

The lump that formed in James' throat this time was impossible to swallow.

***X*X*X***

Two stories, four entrances, innumerable exits from every window. This was not the ideal place to try and surround a target. Especially not one who was well trained to evade a threat.

"Suzanne and Bev, you two stay together," Hannibal ordered.

Suzanne would know the ropes well enough on how to work with a partner, and Bev followed direction well enough. He was more worried about them than Face or Murdock. Even with the injury to Face, Hannibal knew what he was capable of and how he thought. He knew what to expect and how he would react. He didn't know Bev in the least, and Suzanne not as well as he would've liked. They needed each other.

"We go in _quiet_," he continued. "We may have him outnumbered, but he has a hostage. Girls, you take the far entrance. Murdock on the south side, Face on the north."

"Hannibal," Murdock said with that dark tone in his voice that was anything but unsure. As Hannibal turned to look at him, their stares locked hard. "We're going to kill him, right?"

The words weren't half as concerning as the way Murdock said them. Watching him for a long moment, Hannibal answered very carefully. "As far as I'm concerned, Cruiser can burn in hell. But we're here for James. Let's not lose sight of that. There's no reason to think Cruiser would hesitate to kill him."

*X*X*X*

"Anyone ever tell you how much you look like your dad?"

The kid was trembling, eyes closed against the tears that were seeping out of their corners. He was terrified. But his jaw was set, and he'd done no begging. Yet.

Cruiser made sure not to let the knife knick the boy's skin as he slit the front of his T-shirt from the bottom all the way to the top. Razor sharp, the knife didn't catch even once. James didn't make a sound. Then his eyes opened, full of fear but locking on Cruiser's as if he meant to face what terrified him most.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Cruiser had to admit, he was a little impressed with just how evenly the kid had managed to make that come out. He was also amused that it came out in the form of a question.

"You know, people don't usually ask that," he said. "Usually, they say something like, 'Please don't kill me.'"

The boy's jaw clenched and he put his shoulders back. Hands cuffed behind him, he didn't have a whole lot of freedom of movement. "I'm not afraid to die."

Cruiser laughed. "That might change."

James didn't answer. He just held Cruiser's stare and braced himself. Cruiser shook his head in amusement. "I gotta hand it to ya, kid. You're more like your dad than you realize." He smiled wickedly. "And it's going to be loads of fun watching you bleed."

There was no sound to warn him before the sound of the gun cocking. No footsteps, no whispers, no opening doors. One moment he was alone and the next, there was a figure in the doorway to his right. Not even the door behind him, that led into the main hallway of the half-rotted apartment. That door, he would've heard open. But the doorway to the rotted kitchen - the long way around - had not been his highest priority to guard. Now, he suddenly wished he'd thought that potential danger through.

His hand was too low to offer him the advantage of grabbing the kid, or of putting the knife to his throat. With the gun cocked and ready, he knew he'd be dead before he had a chance. His mind racing over his options, he turned his head slowly, keeping the rest of his body very still. As he saw who was standing in the doorway, he gave a smile.

"Hello, Face."

*X*X*X*

James couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been happier to see Face. His relief was almost enough to make him overlook the fact that he looked like hell. His face and neck were bruised and bandaged, fingers splinted, and God only knew what sort of injuries were hidden under his jacket and clothes. Shivering with both fear and from the cold, James fought to remain still as he waited in the eerie silence for Face to make a move.

"Get up, Cruiser," he finally ordered.

The man hesitated a moment, then stood slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Face. "Not your dominant hand," Cruiser noted, nodding to the gun. "Are you as good a shot with that one?"

"If I'm not, you'll just die slower," Face answered, his voice cold.

Cruiser smiled, keeping his hands where Face could see them. "If you were going to kill me, you would've done it the moment you saw me."

Face's hand was steady, his eyes cold as he glared daggers at the man in front of him. "I just want to know one thing, Cruiser," he said low and flat.

"What's that?"

"Why?"

James moved back slightly, away from Cruiser and closer to the wall. Scooting along the badly damaged floor, his jeans ripped on one of the protruding nails. The sound was deafening, but no one looked.

"I left Vietnam behind me," Face continued. "I walked away and I never looked back. But you, you live it every goddamn day. You bring it into the here and now. You can't get over what Dai did to you in that camp, what Hannibal did to you when he told you to get back in line, what I did to you in that bar. So you take all your anger and focus it on a target. Can't be Dai, because he's long dead. Can't be Hannibal, because he doesn't really have anything or anyone he really cares about, outside of the team. I get that I made a good target. What I don't get - what I'll never understand - is why you needed one. Why you couldn't just go home to your sister, move on with your life."

"Like you did?" Cruiser laughed dryly. "You're not exactly normal either, LT."

"You could've done what I did. Or you could've gone your own route with the CIA, and even Stockwell. But the first stop you made was to terrorize someone who didn't mean a goddamn thing to me at the time. Over a vendetta that should've died in Vietnam."

"How is Jessica, anyways?"

"Then you went through years of looking for people to stand in for me," Face continued, ignoring the question. "Did it give you closure, all the innocent people you tortured and murdered?"

"Closure?" Cruiser laughed. "You tell me, Face, what the fuck is closure?"

"Closure was what I got when I walked away from the Army."

"You mean ran."

"I mean it never even crosses my mind to think about those days now. Because it's over. It's done. And it's not a part of me now."

"You're lying to yourself if you believe that. Of course, why not? You lie to everybody else, why not yourself?"

Face didn't respond. Instead, he remained still, eyes locked, gun steady.

"If you're gonna shoot me, you might as well do it," Cruiser said. "Either that, or you can take me back to Stockwell and let him do it. There's no guarantee he'll follow through on it, though. And you've got me, dead bang."

"I'd say when you killed Carla, you pretty much guaranteed your end with Stockwell."

Cruiser chuckled. "Come on, Face. He's a power hungry, scheming, conniving megalomaniac. But I've been working for him a hell of a lot longer than you have. I know how that man works. He won't let anyone out of his service that he thinks he can still use. Not you with a pardon, and not me with a bullet."

"And yet, it says a lot to me that you seem to _want _me to kill you."

"I'm in no rush to die. But you forget, Face, I know you too."

Face's eyes narrowed. His arm had to be getting tired, but it didn't drop in the slightest. He stood still, attention so focused on Cruiser that he didn't even notice the door opening on the other side of the room. But then, neither did Cruiser.

"Know what your problem is, Face?" Cruiser taunted. "Too many years of playing the good guy has made you too damn soft. You hold that gun like you know how to use it. But you couldn't take a life if you had to."

In one smooth move, Murdock's arm was around Cruiser with the blade of his pocketknife under the man's ear. "I can."

*X*X*X*

He had done this before. It was as simple and natural as breathing. Deep inside of him, the thing, the darkness, the power that demand blood screamed and bared its teeth. Murdock had kept it contained, waiting for the time when he would need it, knowing that day would come. Now that it had, there was no need to think. The threat, the thing that had hurt, maimed, killed what was Murdock's - and it was just that; it was a thing and not a person - was now in the dead zone.

One, sharp jab and the knife pierced the skin and muscle, severing nerves and arties. A hard jerk, from left to right, and the blade was tearing open the wind pipe, carotid, jugular. Warm blood spilling and spurting, pumping from a heart that didn't yet realize it was dead. Gurgling, wet, noises; air from lungs that were drawing their last breath. A flat cold voice whispering into a dying man's ear.

"For all the people you've hurt."

There was no struggling, just dead weight. Murdock slipped his arms around the chest, lowering the thing to the ground. Crouching down, he looked at the confused, wide, ice blue eyes staring back at him, seeing what no man lives to tell. Death was waiting for him. Watching the life pass out of the thing's eyes, Murdock wiped the blade clean on its shirt.

_Always take care of your weapon. _  
Its hand went to its neck, fingers feeling, probing, trying to cover the gaping hole, to keep oxygen and blood it, to get a few more seconds of life. It was pointless, it wouldn't matter. Murdock had seen it before. His hand reached down, covering the thing's. He could feel the warm, sticky, thick blood as it oozed through his fingers. All he power this thing had - power to heal and power to destroy, power to love and to hate, to kill and to breathe - was pooling on the floor, making it nothing. It was not human, not a living thing, not a threat, not anymore.

Both James and Face were staring at him. He could feel it. He didn't move, didn't look up. Instead, he spent just a moment letting the darkness in him revel in this moment, let it stare and watch as the thing that had hurt Murdock's world choked on his own blood. In his dying gasps for air, maybe Cruiser - if this thing was Cruiser at all - would recognize what was in Murdock. It was a darkness they both shared. But Murdock's darkness was different than Cruiser's. It was part of him, but it was only a tool, one he would wield and use as needed to what had to be done. Cruiser's darkness had used _him _as a tool.

With a wicked smile, Murdock reached into the wound with two fingers - warm blood on cold fingertips - and raised his hand to his face. He slid his fingers along his cheekbone, over the bridge of his nose, across the other cheek, painting streaks across his face. The smell of the blood was intoxicating.

Death had done its job. There was nothing in the man's eyes now. Threat eliminated, Murdock stood and turned his eyes to Face. Their gazes locked hard, but neither of them spoke for a long moment. Finally, Murdock took a deep, revitalizing breath and let it out slow.

"I want to go home," he said quietly, blinking slowly. "I want to make a new home. This is over."

Face was still and silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. "Yes," he choked, barely audible even in the short distance between them. "Yes, it is."


	38. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

"Murdock?"

He was up off the sofa in a flash as Jessica curled her finger at him. "How is she? Is she okay? Is it over? What is it?"

With a smirk, Jessica nodded down the hallway. "Go ask her yourself."

Murdock's disappearing act rivaled Houdini's. Jessica chuckled as she watched him go, then turned back to the other sets of eyes that were watching her every move. "She's fine. No problems. She'll be out in a couple minutes."

"She need anything?" BA asked, his brow still furrowed. The man would never admit to the worry that was written all over his face.

"A nap," Jessica answered with a chuckle. "A very long one."

She exchanged a quick glance with Face, just long enough for him to wink at her. It was Bev's moment to shine, to be sure. But Jess had to admit that she felt an incredible sense of satisfaction at the fact that she had kept everything under such calm control and, in the end, it had all turned out perfectly.

Murdock's eyes were wide as saucers as she walked back into the bedroom. "It's a boy!"

Jessica smiled. "Yes, I know."

Exhausted and drenched with sweat after eighteen very unkind hours of labor, Bev nevertheless managed a weak smile. "And as soon as he's done nursing, you're going to take him and introduce him to everyone while I take a _shower_."

Suzanne returned from cleaning up the mess in the master bath, leaving the door behind her open as she wiped her hands dry on a clean towel. "So does this boy have a name?"

Murdock was too busy staring down at the tiny, fragile human life to even hear her until she asked a second time. Then he snapped out of his trance, blinked a few times, and answered with confidence. "His name's Tim."

"Timothy John," Bev added.

"Yeah."

It was hard to believe, as Murdock held out his arms for the infant that Bev transferred to him, that anything this small could be so world-changing and important. Afraid to move, afraid to even breathe wrong, he took quick pointers from Jessica while Bev disappeared into the bathroom to shower. Then, sitting still and straight, he watched the door open as the rest of the team filtered in.

"Jesus Christ, he's tiny," Face exclaimed.

Jessica moved beside him and slid an arm around his waist, beaming from ear to ear. "I'll bet Bev doesn't think so right now."

"Congratulations, Murdock," Hannibal offered.

"Thanks." The wide eyed look of awe had not faded. Amazement and pride and a little bit of fear, all rolled up in the tiny, sleeping newborn in his arms.

"What'd you call him?" BA asked.

"His name, uh... His name's Tim."

Suzanne stopped behind Hannibal, hands sliding over his shoulders as she whispered in his ear. "I want one of those."

He cast a wary glance over his shoulder at her. "We'll talk about it."

Life in the small town of Yeppoon, on the eastern Australian coastline was very different than life in the States. But the chances of Stockwell ever finding them here were slim to none. It was a good place to retire - warm and beautiful with a beach in the backyard, an airport not far, and only the mischief that they chose to stir up. Someday - in ten years or maybe fifteen, when Stockwell had no further use for them - they would probably return to the States. But until then, they had more than enough to make life worth living. They had everything. They had each other.

**A/N: Thank you to all of my A-Team readers who have been so encouraging throughout the last few years. I appreciate all of you, perhaps especially those of you who hated this book and yet couldn't drag yourself away from it. I'm flattered beyond belief. The four years I dedicated to this series were some of the happiest of my life so far, and I give thanks to God for the friends he gave me for this period in my life and the things I learned about myself as a writer and a person.**

**As this series ends, I must announce for those of you who don't know that I have moved on to another fandom. Anyone already interested in Dr Who, you can find the first book of my new series here on . Anyone who isn't familiar with Dr Who, check it out! If you'd like to get hooked the way I did, start with the episode Silence in the Library, then go back to the beginning of the 2005 show. If you're not sure whether it's worth it, check out my profile for some enticing "trailers" to the show. You'll almost certainly want to start with 9 (or 10... or 11... but NOT 1) unless you already really like OLD sci-fi, complete with rubber monsters. :-P**

**Thank you all again! It has truly been a pleasure writing for you! Onward and upward!**


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